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MEHITABLE 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NBW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCOTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OP CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 









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MEHITABLE 












MEHITABLE 


By 

KATHARINE ADAMS 

n 


Nftn fnrb 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


1920 

Jll Rights Reserved 




Copyright, 1920, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 


Set up and electrotyped. Published, October, 1920. 


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m 24 1320 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Mehitable and Barbara. 3 

II. Other Cherryville Friends. 10 

III. The Birthday. 20 

IV. “Something” Happens. 30 

V. Good-bye. 35 

VI. The Voyage. 47 

VII. The End of the Journey. 54 

VIII. The Chateau d’Estes. 61 

IX. The First Day. 71 

X. Phillippe. 85 

XI. The Conciergerie—^and a Cake. 96 

XII. The Midnight Feast. 107 

XIII. The Story of Rose Mathilde. 117 

XIV. “Le Jour des Morts”. 126 

XV. “The Play’s the Thing”. 139 

XVI. Lost Noreen. 156 

XVII. Mehitable’s Diary. 174 

XVIII. Hansel and Gretel. 190 

XIX. The White Dress. 203 

XX. Tears and Fun. 212 

XXI. “On the Way There”. 225 

XXII. Garth Hall. 237 

XXIII. A Glimpse at Dublin. 249 

XXIV. The Picnic at Versailles. 258 

XXV. Belgium—1914. 264 




























LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mehitable. Frontispiece 

Facing Page 

The First Night at the Chateau. 33 

Aunt Rose Mathilde. 48 

A Side Street in Paris. 97 

In the Garden with the “Young Madame”. 112 

The Picnic at Glendalough: St. Kevin’s Tower. ... 161 

Versailles: The Palace and the Orangery. 176 

At Versailles: “As Far as One Could See, Silver 
Rainbow Sprays of Water”. 225 









4 


MEHITABLE 


CHAPTER I 

MEHITABLE AND BARBARA 

“Some day something will happen to me!” 

“You say that so often, Mehitable—how can you know?” 

Mehitable sneezed, wrinkling up her little freckled nose, as 
she answered her dear friend Barbara, whO' lay beside her in 
the dusty sweet-smelling straw of the barn loft. 

“I don’t know that I really am sure. Barbie, it’s only hope, 
I suppose, imagining—and then hoping. It’s like looking 
forward to a picnic or a circus next month, only of course 
what will happen to me will be a hundred times more thrilling 
than a picnic or a circus. 

Barbara’s brown eyes gazed rather wistfully out of the wide 
open space of the barn loft, at the vivid blue of a late August 
sky. 

“I’d like to be in it too, if I could,” she said somewhat 
shyly. 

Mehitable sat upright and shook her rather untidy brown 
hair out of her eyes. 

“Of course you’ll be in it. Barb,” she exclaimed. “How 
selfish I must sound. It wouldn’t be anything if you weren’t 
part of it. Oh, as if it could be!” 

Mehitable patted her friend’s arm with her thin sunburnt 
hand, and then began to shake the straw from her striped 
gingham dress. 


4 


Me hit able 


“No,” Barbara insisted, “I don’t see how I could be in 
anything very wonderful that happened to you. It surely 
wouldn’t be here in Cherryville, Vermont. Nothing thrilling 
could happen here, and if it should be a long way off, I 
wouldn’t be there at all.” 

“You might. If I should be a writer, or if someone left . 
me a fortune, you could be my secretary, we could have—” 

“Mehitable! Hot soda biscuits! Come!” 

A voice in the distance called shrilly. Both girls jumped up 
quickly, and both called out, “All right. Desire.” 

There was a slight rustle behind them, and a striped black 
yellow and gray cat stood up in a dazed sort of way, yawned, 
and blinked up at the two friends. 

“Oh, Patchwork, how funny you look with that piece of 
straw over your ear,” laughed Mehitable, as they all three 
ran down the steep rickety steps leading to the harness room 
below. 

“They ran across the gravel path at the back of the house, 
through a dark, damp washroom, and into the large, sunny 
kitchen beyond. A tall, thin woman stood by the sink, rubbing 
the sleeve of her blue print dress with a damp cloth. She looked 
up at them over her gold rimmed spectacles, as they came in. 

“I dipped my sleeve in the wild strawberry jam, just now. 
Shiftless thing to do. Now go right in to supper, both of you. 

It got so much cooler I made some biscuits.” 

“Good for you. Desire,” sang Barbara, as they washed their 
hands at the sink. “You’re the most comfortable person in the 
world,” she added. 

“And the nicest,” said Mehitable, giving her a hug. “Now 
come and have your supper, Patchwork,” she went on, pour¬ 
ing some milk in a blue saucer as she spoke. 

As she bent over with the saucer her braid of brown hair 


M chit able and Barbara 


5 


fell over her shoulder, and she saw that the ribbon was gone. 
Desire had picked it up in the doorway, and handed it to her. 

'‘With all her fussing. Miss Webster hasn't made you the 
least bit careful about not losin’ all your belongin's, Mehitable, 
but I don’t know but I like you about as well as you be.” 

Mehitable smiled at her as she called, “Patchwork P 

There was no need to call, for the ever faithful animal was 
rubbing himself against her feet. 

“Yes, Patchwork, have your milk, do,” sniffed Desire, “see- 
in’ as how you swam in a whole pail of it, this morning.” 

“What do you mean, Desire?” asked Mehitable. 

“What I say. I left the cover off a pail of milk, and if that 
crazy cat didn’t dive right into it. I heard the splash and came 
a runnin’, fished him out and set him in the sun to dry. My, 
but he was a peaked lookin’ object. I gave the milk to the 
pigs. It’s a good thing your aunt’s away, Mehitable, it’ll be 
all over and forgot by the time she gits back.” 

The girls laughed as they walked arm in arm into the next 
room. 

“Supper’s laid on the side porch,” called Desire. 

A great bowl of wild asters stood on the center table in the 
sitting room. Barbara picked out some and fastened them in 
her belt, and laughingly put one in her hair; Mehitable walked 
to the screen door, and gave a little cry of pleasure. 

“Aunt Comfort’s best china! How Desire does spoil us! 
More asters, and cake with pink icing!” 

“Mehitable’s birthday ain’t till next week,” said a voice in 
the doorway. “But I thought you two might like to have a 
celebration by yourselves. Law, to think she’ll be sixteen. 
Why it seems as though t’warn’t but yesterday you two young 
ones was washin’ out your doll’s things, and beggin’ me for a 
bit o’ twine to hang ’em out across the branches of the white 


6 Mehifable 

lilac tree. And now, both of you turned sixteen—it beats all, 
it beats all.” 

Kindly blue eyes beamed at them and the two girls smiled 
back. Desire was so much a part of their lives, that they took 
her for granted, and yet were not without appreciation of her 
constant homely goodness. Patchwork had made a hasty supper 
and whined at the screen door to be let out. 

“That cat ain’t ever going to be left out. He knows you’re 
havin’ somethin’ extra. Well go on if you want to,” said 
Desire, as she held open the door. She then disappeared into 
the kitchen and they heard her singing in a deep rather sweet 
alto, so different from her speaking voice: 

“7K onderftil zvords, beautiful zvords, zjuouderful zjuords of life.” 

The supper was a triumph: cold chicken, creamed potatoes, 
the hot biscuits with some of the fresh wild strawberry jam, 
cut up peaches with Curly Horn’s cream (Curly Horn was 
Mehitable’s own cow), and marble cake with pink icing. 
Patchwork jumped upon a green bench near the table, and 
watched the two with interest. He had done this for a long 
time, for he was eight years old. Silas, Aunt Comfort’s man 
of all work, had given him to Mehitable when he was a wee 
bundle of fur with his eyes just open. He had shared dolls’ 
tea parties, and had played various roles in their games, once 
being dressed as a ballet dancer in a full pink gauze skirt. 
Those days were over, but he still followed faithfully to the 
barn loft, and down to their cool retreat by the spring, through 
red pine needle wood paths. No distance was too great for 
him. The late sun flickered through the woodbine on the 
west porch where they were having supper. It touched the 
bright faces of the two friends. Mehitable glanced admiringly 
at the asters in Barbara’s hair. Suddenly she said, “I’m ugly 
like my name.” 


M chit able and Barbara 


7 


“Why, Mehitable Webster, aren’t you ashamed! You’re 
not ugly. You have eyes like the picture of the fairy princess 
in our old ‘Red Fairy Tale Book,’ I’ve often told you so,” 
remonstrated Barbara. 

Mehitable smiled and shook her head. When she said that 
she was ugly, she meant that her dull brown hair and freckled 
face were trials to her. She did not know that there was a 
charm about her very wide-open gray eyes, a wistfulness in 
their depths, and about her sensitive mouth, that would make 
an unconscious appeal for her throughout her life. 

Barbara’s brown eyes smiled across at her friend, as they 
had done since they were babies of four, and Mehitable had 
come, a timid, pale, little child, an orphan, to live in the roomy 
old white farmhouse, with her father’s sister. Barbara lived 
next door, supposedly, but she lived mostly with Mehitable. 
Barbara, too, had no mother, and as her father taught school 
in a neighboring town, and was away all day, she was more 
or less alone. There was something very fascinating to 
Mehitable in her friend’s liberty. There was no one to see 
that she was prompt to meals, or that her stockings were 
darned. She could go and come as she pleased, but Barbara 
was a fairly sensible child, and a good little housekeeper for 
her father. 

The two girls were very gay over their supper. They had so 
much to talk about always, their next year at High School, 
their picnics, the books they were reading together, for they 
read a great deal. They talked about Robin and Johnnie, and 
the funny Bentlys, and the fun they hoped to have, all of them 
together, for years to come. Mehitable loved to try to put her 
thoughts on paper, and she had written several stories that 
delighted her very uncritical audience. She was now trying 
to write a play. 


8 


Mehitable 


“Oh, Barbie, Fm writing the play for you. You’ll be the 
heroine. While Fm writing it, I think of your hair, your 
shining golden hair,” said Mehitable, as she cut up some 
delicate slices of chicken for Patchwork. 

“On your birthday let’s put up our hair,” suggested Barbara. 
“We are sixteen and Fm tired of having mine in a braid.” 

“Aunt Comfort would never let me wear it up. I mean not 
all the time, but for that one day it would be fun.” 

They pushed back their chairs and Barbara began to pile 
up the dishes and they carried them out to Desire in the kitchen, 
Patchwork winding about them affectionately, nearly causing 
Mehitable to break two of the best plates as she stumbled over 
him. 

“We are going to do the dishes. Desire, we’d love to,” said 
Mehitable. 

“No you ain’t, not with a sunset like the one we’re going 
to have to-night. You two get right along and take Patchwork 
with you. I don’t want him bothering round. When I get 
through I may set out for a spell. Now you two run right 
along.” 

She flapped a towel at them fiercely, and they ran out 
laughing. 

“Let’s take ‘Lorna Doone’ up on the hill and read it there 
for a while. It will be light for a half hour or more,” sug* 
gested Mehitable. 

“All right. We left it in our tree. I’ll get it.” 

Barbara ran over to a venerable apple tree near the well, ^ 
scrambled up easily into its low hanging branches, and from 
a deep hollow drew out a big dark covered book. Down she! 
came again and arm in arm the two walked past the well and! 
the old red barn, down a shady lane edged with dusty raspberry j 
bushes and on up a steep winding road. 


Mehitahle and Barbara 


9 


Patchwork followed closely at their heels, arching his back 
and hissing once at his enemy, a black and tan terrier, who 
barked at him from a neighboring farm house. 

''Aunt Comfort will be back to-morrow. Pm almost sure,” 
sighed Mehitable. "Oh, Fm wicked not to want her back 
again, but this week has been so happy—you and I together, 
reading and thinking, Oh, I so love to think, and there's no 
time when Auntie is home.” 

They both laughed at this remark, and Mehitable added, 
"Aunt Comfort has given me my dear home and oh. Barb, 
she's so good. It's just that I'm a lazy foolish girl. I only 
want the sunshiny things of life.” 

At last they reached the top, and for some minutes stood 
silent. Far and far away stretched the purple blue mountains, 
the blue valleys, and above them a sky of crimson rose. 

Mehitable clasped her hands together and turned towards 
her friend. "It is all the dreams in the world come true,'' she 
said. 


CHAPTER IL 

OTHER CHERRYVILLE FRIENDS 

Johnnie Grey whistled three times, paused a moment and 
whistled again. A curly brown sheep dog ran out from the 
barn and came up to him, wagging his tail vigorously. A 
moment later a voice called from the kitchen window. “The 
girls want you to go off for lunch with them, Johnnie. They’re 
both out on the north porch now, making sandwiches.” 

The boy’s freckled face lightened suddenly, and he called 
back, “Goody! Tell ’em Fm game. Mother’s canning to-day, 
she’ll be glad to get rid of me.” 

He patted Comrade, the sheep dog, and then settled back 
against a pillar of the porch, put his hand in his pocket, drew 
out a book and started to read. He read a page, yawned and 
then read it again. 

*What saith the river to the rushes gray. 

Rushes sadly heading, 

River slowly wending, 

Who can tell the whispered things they say?^* 

There was a sudden loud barking and a rush. A stray dog 
who had wandered in from the road, was being unceremoni¬ 
ously put out by Comrade. Several chickens strutting aim¬ 
lessly about cackled loudly. Johnny glanced up for a moment, 
and then back at the page. 

^^What saith the river to the rushes gray. 

Rushes sadly bending. 

River slowly wending, 

10 


Other Cherryville Friends 11 

It ts near the closing of the day. 

Near the night, 

Life and light 

Forever and forever fled away/* 

The boy let the book fall at his feet, clasped his hands about 
his knees, and drew his brows together in a frown. Just then 
the screen door banged loudly, and two glad voices hailed him. 

‘'A picnic, Johnnie,” sang Mehitable. She sprang lightly 
down the steps, in spite of the heavy basket she carried, and 
stopped to pick up the book that Johnnie had let fall. “What 
a way to use my treasure,” she said reproachfully. 

Johnnie took the basket from her and reached over for a 
tin pail that Barbara handed him from the porch. “I’m sorry, 
Mehitable. I was thinking about it, that’s why I dropped it. 
But isn’t it good to have a picnic ?” 

“Only the third we’ve had this week,” sang Barbara happily, 
as the three crossed over to the path by the barn that led to 
the hill. Desire called after them. “Be back by five o’clock, 
Mehitable, won’t you, for your Aunt Comfort is sure to be 
home to-night.” They called back gaily that they would. 

The sun was yellow and joyous and not yet too warm, and 
three very happy human beings made their way up the hill. 
Mehitable carried two books and a writing pad and pencil, 
Barbara a small work box. Johnny though heavily laden, kept 
up with them at a good pace. The three stopped to rest under 
the old apple tree, half way up the hill. Suddenly Johnnie 
laughed and called their attention to a small object rapidly 
making its way towards them. 

“Patchwork! Bless his heart, he never fails. I forgot him 
when we started,” cried Mehitable. 

They waited until he caught up with them, each one patting 
his funny striped head. Comrade frisked about him in wel¬ 
come, as they all started on again. 


12 


Mehi fable 


The scent of the clover swept over them. There were wild 
flowers all along the road, late ones, even wild roses, very wide 
awake and pink after their night's sleep. There was only one 
cloud in the sky, a downy white and gray one. Meadow larks 
sang and a saucy bob-o-link twittered at them from a nearby 
bush. 

They were passing a tree laden with very late cherries, and 
suddenly a loud whoop startled them. ‘‘It's Robin," called 
Johnnie. 

“Stealing cherries again, Robin Ward? When will you 
ever grow up ?" demanded Barbara, at the same time catching 
a branch covered with very dark juicy ones, thrown down at 
her suddenly by an unseeen hand. 

“Never," was the answer from somewhere deep within the 
leafy greenness. “And neither will you. Another picnic! 
Suppose I come along, too." 

“Do," answered Mehitable. “And here,” she added, “here 
come the Bentlys; they will love to come, I know. There are 
so many of them at home, and one of the grown up sisters, 
Clara I think, has a college friend visiting her. They have 
all sorts of plans and don't want Sadie and Ruby to know 
about them at all, don't want them around." 

“But there isn't enough lunch," objected Johnnie, at the 
same time waving a welcome to the approaching figures. 

“Yes there is, greedy thing. We made a great many sand¬ 
wiches,” said Barbara, reproachfully. 

“Here are cherries,” said Robin Ward, as he swung himself 
down from the tree, a big basket of dark, delicious fruit, on his 
arm. 

“They would taste sweeter if they were stolen I know," he 
added. “But as it happens old Merriwether told me to pick 
all I wanted." 


Other Cherryville Friends 13 

‘‘Old Merriwether!’' the girls exclaimed in surprise, and 
Johnnie whistled. 

The Bendy girls had come up to them, and they too stared 
at Robin Ward. His dark laughing eyes danced at them mis¬ 
chievously. Merriwether was a cantankerous old man who 
had often chased the boys from his trees with a riding whip in 
their younger days. 

“Why you see ids this way,^’ explained Robin, holding out 
a branch of cherries to each one of them. “Old Merriwether’s 
so afraid of ghosts.’' 

“Ghosts!” exclaimed Sadie Bendy. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you see, I met the old man last night as I came along 
by the wood just above the graveyard. I’d seen him on his 
way to the village just after supper. He hardly ever goes 
alone he’s so afraid of ghosts. He makes his wife or his one- 
eyed daughter go for the mail evenings.” 

“Silly old thing,” put in Johnnie. 

“Well, last night he went to that meeting about the County 
Fair. It was a dark night and when he went by the graveyard 
he says he saw a white figure sort of bending over and moan¬ 
ing.” 

“He’s a crazy old man,” exclaimed Ruby Bendy. “A ghost 
in our graveyard. He must have been drinking.” 

“He never drinks,” said Johnnie. “He wears a temperance 
badge. Well, he was in a bad way from fright, shaking and 
trembling. I tried my best to calm him, and I walked all the 
way home with him, and all the time he was telling me about 
the awful figure he’d seen back there in the graveyard.” 

By this time they were all walking up the hill together, and 
Robin went on with his story. “He held onto me till we came 
right up to the kitchen door. His wife opened the door and 
old man Merriwether began to tell her all about it right off. 


14 


Mehitable 


I heard him all the way down the lane. He was so grateful to 
me for seeing him home, he said for me to pick all the cherries 
I wanted to.^’ 

‘‘They’re splendid ones,” said Mehitable, “and a fine addi¬ 
tion to our feast. Come with us, won’t you Sadie and Ruby, 
and we’ll all have a picnic together.” 

“We’d love to,” answered Sadie delightedly. “Ma baked 
some little sponge cakes this morning. She’ll give us some I 
know. Where are you going, up in the hollow?” 

“Yes,” answered Robin. “It’s the only place I know that 
really was made for a picnic. Mehitable says the fairies made 
it.” 

“I’ll run and get the cakes, and I’ll bring anything else I 
can find,” and Sadie, the more energetic of the two Bentlys, 
ran ofif down a dusty lane toward a drab looking farmhouse, 
at the far end. 

“I wonder what old man Merriwether really did see,” mused 
Mehitable, as they sauntered on very slowly, pausing often to 
wait for Sadie. Johnnie chuckled, and Barbara looked first 
at him and then at Robin. “Oh, Robin Ward, you dressed 
up as a ghost to frighten an old man. Aren’t you ashamed, 
and you nearly sixteen?” 

Robin looked a little sheepish for a moment, and then 
smiled at her. This smile was a thing of sunshine. It had 
helped him over many a hard place. It had saved him an 
occasional whipping at school, and it shone now on Mehitable 
and Barbara. “It was only a joke, and I was so good to him 
afterwards. Somehow it was a kind of ghostly night, so 
cloudy and still—I couldn’t help it, scaring old Merriwether, I 
mean. Oh, it was fun watching for him to come along! I 
hid behind that tall thin slab—the one that has the angel 
with the hand broken off and has turned sort of green.” 


Other Cherryville Friends 15 

“Oh, Robin, hush, how can you! It makes it all seem so 
dreary,'' exclaimed Mehitable. 

“Sadie’s coming, I'd better go and help her with the basket,” 
and like a flash Robin was off down the road. 

“Ma gave me some potatoes to roast,” said Sadie as soon as 
the two caught up with the others. 

“Splendid. We're nearly there,” called back Barbara over 
her shoulder. 

“We'll build a fire; what fun! There is no place like the 
hollow for a picnic. Think of finding those fine rocks there, 
so we can have a fire without being afraid of burning up the 
flowers and ferns,” said Mehitable happily. 

They had left the road, and were treading a rosy pine path 
which led into the wood. Pine and birch trees murmured in 
the summer breeze. Mehitable was very quiet as they went 
farther into the wood, the same look touched her eyes that 
had been there when she and Barbara watched the sunset. 
Robin walked beside her carrying Sadie’s basket with one 
hand and the cherry basket with the other. 

“Will you ever grow up, Robin?” asked Mehitable, as 
Barbara had done. 

Robin glanced at her half mischievously—half pleadingly. 
He and Mehitable had been friends since the doll days when 
he and Johnnie had tried to lure the girls away to play Indian. 
Robin had always been the Indian Chief. 

“Do you want to grow up? he demanded. “Do you want 
to stay in and sew all day with your Aunt Comfort and 
grow thin and pinched like Miss Prince, the dressmaker?” 

Mehitable laughed, as they came up to the others. “Oh, 
Robin, I’ll never, never grow up in such an unhappy way. 

How can you make growing old such a sad picture! But 
come, all of us, gather wood for a big fire.” 


16 


Mehitable 


They had come up with the’ others. Robin threw down his 
basket and they all began to look about for brush and twigs. 
Their picnic place was a deep hollow in the forest, full of 
ferns and wild clematis. The deep woods were all about 
them, silent except for the singing of the wind, and the 
occasional flutter of a wild bird. They began to pile up the 
brush in the center of two big rocks, blackened by their many 
fires. Robin and Johnnie gathered great armsfull of wood and 
soon the orange and red flames were leaping high. They 
were all very hungry, and as soon as the fire had died down 
a little, they put in the potatoes, placing them as much as 
possible between the stones and in the crevices of the rocks. 
Johnny and Mehitable watched them carefully, pushing them 
about, and nearly burning themselves in their desire to have 
them just right. Barbara and the Bentlys unpacked the sand¬ 
wiches and the cakes and Robin piled the cherries in a glow¬ 
ing scarlet heap on some green leaves, in the center of another 
big rock nearby, which they called the table. Soon they were 
laughing over the hot potatoes. They sat about in a circle. 
The faint rays of the sun, shining through the dense trees, 
touched their happy faces. The sweetness of the pines, and 
the mysterious coolness of the deep wood, came tO' them on the 
wind. To Mehitable it was an enchanting day. How good 
the food tasted! What happy times they had, all of them 
together. 

"'We haven’t any butter for the potatoes,” said Sadie Bently. 

“Who wants butter!” answered Robin. “Why this is a 
wonderful meal. It’s just the sort of a meal I’d choose 
always, hot potatoes and ripe cherries.” 

“It’s the sort of meal I’d choose if a fairy should appear 
suddenly in a wood when I was very hungry, and should tell 


Other Cherryville Friends 17 

me I could have anything I liked to eat.’^ This from Johnnie. 

"‘Oh, no, Johnnie—not if you really had a fairy wish,” 
remonstrated Mehitable. “If I had a fairy meal to choose, it 
would be—it would be—let me see,” she went on dreamily. 
“Chestnuts and whipped cream frozen together. I read about 
it somewhere. And a salad of iced fruits and something to 
drink in a tall green glass.” 

“Fd chose apple dumplings,” said Sadie Bently, unex¬ 
pectedly. 

They all laughed at this, and then Robin remarked to 
Mehitable. “The play, Mehitable, what about the play? You 
know you’re going to write one for us. We’ve had so many 
plays we’ve made up out of books, and now we want a real 
one, one you’ve made up yourself.” 

Mehitable clasped her hands about her knees, and looked 
rather serious, as she answered him. “I’ve been thinking and 
thinking,” she said, “and all the time it’s a winter play I 
want to write. Oh, it’s foolish to try to do it at all. I suppose 
I don’t know how at all, you know, only it’s such fun to try.” 
She looked around at them all, smiling a little shyly. 

“Oh, Mehitable, of course you can write a splendid play 
for us,” said Barbara encouragingly. “Think of all the things 
you’ve always made up for us to do.” 

“Yes, no one could ever think of as many lovely things 
for the dolls to do, as Mehitable could,” put in Sadie Bently. 

Mehitable looked at her for a moment. Sadie had been 
more interesting in those days. She had been a real mother 
to her dolls. 

“It’s a winter play I’m thinking of,,” said Mehitable slowly, 
“I can’t quite tell you about it, yet, but I think I can very 
soon.” 


18 


Mehitable 


‘‘Winter seems such a long way off, and yet school will 
begin so soon and only Saturday afternoons to play in,” 
said Barbara. 

“What if the thing should happen to you this winter, 
Mehitable? You know, the wonderful thing that’s going to 
happen sometime. What if your mother’s friend, Mrs. Lind¬ 
say, should send for you to come to Japan?” 

“Oh, Barbie, that could never, never be,” laughed Mehit¬ 
able. 

It was growing late and they gathered their baskets to¬ 
gether, and started slowly homeward. 

Miss Comfort Webster had driven ten miles in the August 
sun, and as she turned in at her own driveway she gave a 
sigh of relief. It was good to be home again. She peered 
out at the side of the buggy just as Desire opened the kitchen 
door and came down the steps. 

“So you’re home again. Miss Webster. Seems as if you’ve 
been gone quite a spell.” 

The horse stopped mechanically in front of the steps, and 
Miss Webster handed out several packages as Desire came up 
to her. 

“Here’s some of Rose Biddle’s sugared doughnuts, she 
sent them to Mehitable. Where is she ?” 

“We didn’t expect you until to-night. Miss Webster, and 
the two girls have gone off on a picnic. Johnnie Grey went, 
too. I just fixed ’em up some cold lunch and let them go off 
for the day.” 

“Has Mehitable helped you with the jam?” demanded Miss 
Comfort, as she climbed rather stiffly out of the buggy, old 
Silas having come up to take the horse. 

“All I’d let her. Yes, she helped real well.” 


Other Cherryville Friends 19 

‘‘Hump! ril warrant she wasn’t in the house except to 
sleep for more than an hour a day. You spoil her, Desire. 
Well, Si,” turning to the old man. “How does everything 
go?” 

“Fine, fine, I was just out back of the barn feeding the 
pigs when you came drivin’ up. Miss Webster. Fve worked 
real hard these days. Well, here come the young folks. They 
do seem to git the best out o’ life, now don’t they?” 

The little picnic party had just appeared around the comer 
of the barn, Robin and Johnnie carrying the baskets. Mehitable 
came up to her aunt and kissed her timidly. 

“I didn’t know you’d be home so early. Auntie. Oh, we’ve 
had such a happy time.” 

“It’s been the best of all our good days. Miss Comfort,” 
said Robin, smiling upon her. 

“Hump! You’d like your days all sunshine, Robin Ward, 
but that isn’t life. What about all the jam Desire has been 
making this week. How much have you helped?” she asked 
her niece. 

Mehitable colored but looked at her bravely. “Oh, Aunt 
Comfort,” she said in a whisper, “I’ve hardly helped at all. 
I’ve just been playing.” 


CHAPTER III 

THE BIRTHDAY 

Mehitable awoke early on her birthday morning'. The first 
thing that met her eyes was a sky of rose and gold. The 
night before she had rolled up the dark green window shade 
so that she could watch the stars and the new golden hoop 
of the moon. 

Mehitable loved to make up poems about the stars, and 
stories about the moon. She had been used to telling them 
to her two favorite dolls, who always had slept with her 
at night. She secretly missed her dolls more than she could 
ever tell, even Barbara did not know how much. 

They were laid away now, covered with an old red silk 
shawl upstairs in the attic. She felt ashamed that she missed 
them so much, especially this birthday morning. They had 
always somehow seemed to know of happy events such as 
Christmases and fourth of Julys and birthdays. Most of all, 
she missed her favorite doll, Madeline, her dearest. 

She lay quite still, looking out at the dawn with sleepy 
gray eyes. She was sixteen years old that morning. She must 
forget her dolls and all the quaint happy plays that she and 
Barbara had had together. As she lay back on her pillows she 
smiled to herself, old remembrances came to her, especially 
doll memories, the hours in the hot gloomy attic upstairs, rum¬ 
maging in old trunks for scraps of cloth and silk with which 
to make wardrobes for their large families, hers and Barbara’s. 

She thought of the tea parties under the apple tree by the 
20 


21 


The Birthday 

well, all the dolls sitting demurely around a small white tea 
cloth where the blue and white cups and saucers were spread. 
The dolls had eaten nicely the bits of cookies that had been 
given them, and had sipped the milk from the miniature cups 
with their faded gilt edges. They had all behaved nicely 
except Betsy, the very naughty one, who generally had to be 
spanked and made to stand in disgrace with her face against 
a tree trunk. 

Mehitable's thoughts wandered to the woods, Robin, 
Johnnie, Sammie Ross, the Bentlys, Lucy Graves, the doctor’s 
little girl, and always Barbara and herself, playing through 
the misty autumn Saturday afternoons. The blue haze through 
the woods, the smoke of leaves burning. How happy they had 
been in their play! She was asleep. 

‘‘Get right up, Mehitable, and many happy returns of the 
day.” 

Mehitable opened her eyes with a start, as Desire leaned 
over and kissed her. The girl put her arms around her neck 
and hugged her. “You’ve always waked me on every birthday, 
haven’t you. Desire! What’s that in your hand? Oh, 
flowers ?” 

Mehitable sat up in bed, tossed back her hair and buried 
her face in the great bunch of dawn-hearted roses. 

“Si brought ’em, land knows where he got ’em. They 
don’t grow around here, rot for five miles any way. Old 
Miss Sutton had some puny ones, but these ain’t from her 
bush. Si does beat all.” 

“Oh,” breathed Mehitable, “they’re fairy flowers. Desire, 
don’t you see, so we can’t know where they grow.” 

“Hump! I don’t know about that, but get right up. I’ve 
set the table out under old Grandpa apple tree. Your Aunt 
Comfort says she’ll eat out doors for once; Barbara called 


22 Mehitable 

from her window that she’d be over in a few minutes, so hurry, 
get up right away!” 

Miss Comfort Webster knitted nervously as she sat in her 
place behind the coffee urn out under the apple tree where 
Mehitable’s birthday breakfast was spread. She glanced up 
as Desire placed the cups and saucers before her. 

"‘Dear me, Desire, always extra trouble for you. I’ve wasted 
half an hour when I might be busy at my desk. Where are 
the girls?” 

Just then Mehitable called to her as she came running across 
the lawn. She came up to the table rather breathlessly, fresh 
in her blue gingham frock and carrying the roses in her 
hands. Her aunt kissed her on the cheek and said kindly 
enough, ‘‘Come, come, there is no reason for being late, even 
if it is your birthday. It’s canning time you know, and 
Desire has the picnic supper to see to as well as everything 
else.” 

Barbara came flying across the grass, or rather she was 
running so fast that she seemed fairly to fly. She hugged 
Mehitable and put a mysterious looking parcel down beside 
her plate. 

“Good morning. Miss Comfort, it seems dreadful to be late 
on this glorious birthday morning. Oh, Mehitable, you’re six¬ 
teen 1” 

Mehitable beamed at her as they sat down, and then turned 
to her aunt. 

“I’m sorry to be late too. Auntie. I woke up early and 
sort of day dreamed myself to sleep again. Oh, isn’t this a 
wonderful morning? Barb and I will help Desire with the 
peaches.” 

Mehitable was still holding the roses. “Where on earth did 


23 


The Birthday 

those roses come from?” demanded Aunt Comfort, gazing 
at them in astonishment. 

^‘Silas^s gift to me. I don’t know where he found them, 
but I think the fairies must have told him where they grew.” 
Mehitable laughed happily as she spoke. Aunt Comfort 
sniffed. 

''Fairies! Oh, Mehitable, do try to remember you’re grow¬ 
ing up, and do be careful, they are tearing the new embroid¬ 
ered front of your dress that I put in last week. Here comes 
Desire with the glass bowl. Give the flowers to her and eat 
your breakfast.” 

"All right, I will, but after I’ve had one muffln may I open 
one package. Just that small square one. It’s ifrom you 
Auntie, I can tell by the writing.” 

It was a happy time out there in the sunlight, with Patch- 
work chasing the shadows of the apple leaves. Even Aunt 
Comfort smiled at Barbara’s account of the trick Robin had 
played on old Mr. Merriwether, though she spoke somewhat 
severely. 

"Robin Ward should be sent away to school, a strict school. 
There is no real harm in him, but he only lives for mischief. 
If I’d had the bringing up of him, he wouldn’t be galavanting 
around frightening people out of their wits.” 

"Oh, but he doesn’t do that very often. Miss Comfort, and 
he really is such a dear,” defended Barbara. 

"And never rough or rude, with all his fun,” put in 
Mehitable. 

She was opening the present from her aunt as she spoke. 
Softly lifting away the tissue paper covering from a little 
square box, she drew off the elastic band, and opened it. A 
young face smiled up at her, a face with happy, winsome 


24 


Me hit able 


eyes. It was a small picture, set in an old gold locket. The 
locket had a rim of black enamel around it, and was fastened 
to a thin gold chain. 

Mehitable was silent for a moment, then she looked up at 
her Aunt Comfort. '‘It’s mother,” she said softly. 

Miss Webster nodded. The sunlight touched her tanned, 
strong face, and the soft, neat rolls of white hair above it. 
She had blue eyes but they were small, bright, and piercing. 
Just now there was a softened look in them as she answered 
her niece. 

“Yes, I found it this spring in my old piece trunk up 
garret. It was in a reticule with some papers, that’s why I’d 
forgotten about it. It’s a good enough likeness I think.” 

“You had one made smaller for the locket for my birthday! 

Oh, Aunt Comfort it was so dear, so thoughtful of you.” 

She jumped up, and throwing her arms around her aunt’s 
neck, gave her a hug. 

“I—I don’t deserve it.” 

“There—there Mehitable, that’s enough. Remember you’re 
sixteen to-day, don’t be so impulsive.” 

“I’m not really crying. Auntie, it’s just one tear and I’ve 
wiped it away. I’d better not look at anything more until 
afterward.” 

Barbara passed her the plate of huckleberry muffins. “Have 
one of them and then look at my present. You must promise 
to—no. I’ll not say it, or you’ll guess.” 

Miss Comfort went on to explain about the locket. “Your 
father never would have his picture taken. I’ve only one of 
him, a scared-looking object I won’t let anyone see, but your 
mother gave him this just before their marriage. It was 
sent back with his things after he died out west.” Aunt 


The Birthday 25 

Comfort spoke in her usual way, but there was a slight quiver 
about her lips. 

Barbara’s present proved to be a diary, a dark leather book 
with the letters M. W. engraved upon it. 

‘•‘You must promise to keep it regularly. It will be such 
fun for just that book to see what you write,” said Barbara 
as Mehitable exclaimed with delight. 

“Yes,” assented Mehitable, “it’s sort of mysterious, I can 
write all kinds of secrets in it. It will hold all my very secret 
thoughts. See, it has a lock and key—isn’t that splendid?” 
She held up the little gold key as she spoke. 

Miss Comfort looked at it admiringly, but without any great 
show of interest. “It’s a handsome book, Barbara, and a very 
nice idea having the initials engraved on the outside, but I 
never could understand this notion of keeping a diary. Now 
for example there is Mehitable, she knows what she’s going 
to do every day and what she has done for the last ten years, 
why should she write it down?” 

“But I don’t know what I may be going to do. Auntie— 
and, oh, there are so many things I can put in it, so many 
thoughts I make up myself.” 

Miss Comfort rose from the table hastily. “I’ve chattered 
away a good hour with you two, and I must not waste an¬ 
other minute.” 

“But it was my birthday and we’ve all three had such a 
good time,” comforted Mehitable, as they busied themselves 
in piling up the breakfast dishes. She sang softly to herself 
as she went toward the kitchen. Coming inside she met 
Desire with a good sized brown paper parcel. When she saw 
Mehitable she smiled and beckoned to her. 

“Now, Mehitable,” she said, “I’ve got something for you. 


26 


Mehitable 


Tain’t much, but land knows, ’twas hot work stewing over 
it these last few weeks.” She undid the parcel as she spoke, 
and shook out the contents. 

“Oh, Desire, you did all that work for me! You dear, dear 
friend,” Mehitable gave her a hug as she spoke. Desire 
beamed on her. 

“Ain't it a lovely red? Do you know what it is? It's 
a hood and cape, real close knit. You can wear it cold nights 
next winter when you go skating.” 

Mehitable held the red garment close to her and smiled 
lovingly at Desire, she was feeling so happy. “I don’t deserve 
your all being so good to me but I thank you so much, I’ll 
love to wear this next winter. Now I’ll go and find Silas.” 

She found him weeding, grumbling to himself as he bent 
over his work. He straightened up and looked around as 
Mehitable came up to him. “I want to thank you for my 
birthday roses. Si, they were the first things I saw this morn¬ 
ing, when I woke up, except the sky. They’re beauties. Si, 
sort of dream roses.” 

Si’s smile wrinkled up his old face delightfully as he 
answered. “That’s it, Mehitable, that’s it, dream posies, that’s 
what they be, you always hit the nail on the head. So now 
you’re grown up. Sixteen is it? And your third year at high 
school cornin’ on soon. It don’t seem true. Why t’warn’t but 
yesterday, seems like, you’d come out and say how you’d 
taken all our baby dolls for a long ride in the old buggy in 
the barn. How you going to celebrate to-day?” 

“We’re having a berrying picnic over in the north woods, 
and supper there. I must run now and help Desire. Thank 
you worlds for my roses, Si.” 

Barbara and Mehitable worked all the morning in the big 
sunny kitchen, paring peaches, and stirring the delicious 
mature in the great iron kettle. They both wore gingham 


27 


The Birthday 

aprons tied about their necks. Mehitable wore the chain and 
locket around her neck under her apron. For her that morn¬ 
ing, everything was happiness; Aunt Comfort had never 
been so kind. “Almost like a girl herself,” thought Mehitable 
wonderingly. 

Sadie Bently appeared during the morning with a chocolate 
cake she liad made herself, and a box of peppermint creams 
from Ruby. 

“Ruby made the candy last night—used up all the extract 
of peppermint and of course Grandpa had to go and have a 
toothache in the night and wanted it. I hope the cake is 
good. We're all looking forward to the picnic. Robin and 
Sam Ross have gathered brush enough for a great big fire up 
there by north wood.” 

It was a jubilant party of blueberry pickers who crossed 
the north meadow that afternoon. The Bentlys and their 
cousin Cora Barnes from Green Center, a nearby town; Lucy 
Graves, the doctor’s daughter; Robin Ward and Johnnie; 
funny red-haired Sammie Ross and his inseparable friend, 
Erastus Peters. 

All the afternoon the meadow and woods rang with the 
echo of their happy voices and laughter. Pails and baskets 
brimmed with blue as the berries were tossed in by brown 
juice-stained fingers. Patchwork leaped excitedly about from 
group to group. Once he upset a basket of berries and ran 
hurriedly off to the woods, soon to return with an innocent 
and unconscious expression. 

Mehitable and Johnnie found a particularly fine patch and 
picked together for a long time. Mehitable sat down in the 
shade at last and fanned herself with her big straw hat. “This 
is the happiest birthday I’ve ever had. I don’t suppose there 
will ever be another quite like it.” 

“Why not? Won’t we be always having birthdays?” 


28 


Mehifable 


“Yes, but we won’t always be together,” Mehitable 
answered. 

“That’s true. I’m going away when I’m old enough. 
Mehitable, you don’t know how I long to go out in the world. 
I’m only fifteen. Oh, I want to grow up so badly. I want 
to go to New York and have a studio and learn to be an 
artist. You know that man who was here last summer, the 
artist? He liked my sketch of all of you building up the fire 
in the hollow. Oh, I’m tired of being just a country boy run¬ 
ning errands!” 

Mehitable gazed at her friend in astonishment, she had 
never heard him speak this way before. She herself had 
dreams of a world beyond Cherryville, but she was hurt, 
somehow, at Johnnie’s passionate desire to leave it. She tried 
to think of some word of comfort for him. “I feel that you 
will be famous some day, Johnnie. I feel almost sure of it.” 

Johnnie shook his head gloomily and then smiled. “I won¬ 
der if either of us will ever go away, or if we’ll always be 
right here in Cherryville,” he said. 

“It’s a pretty good place to be in,” Mehitable exclaimed, 
as she stood up. “But there is so much to see and do beyond 
it,” she added. 

Robin was calling to them, and soon they were all watch¬ 
ing the great bonfire that blazed and danced in the soft twi¬ 
light. Desire had come up in a farm wagon and was kneeling 
in front of some baskets lifting out bundles of goodies for 
the supper. The girls helped her; the boys cut pointed sticks, 
and soon they were all toasting their hands and faces over the 
fire as they fried slices of bacon. They tried to persuade 
Desire to stay, but she said she had no time to waste and 
that the crickets made her jumpy, so she mounted beside the 
farmer boy and drove home. 


29 


The Birthday 

It was the merriest kind of a meal. After awhile the moon 
showed faintly and the fire seemed very scarlet in the gloam¬ 
ing. Robin sang “The Gipsy Trail.” A cousin who had been 
visiting at his home had left the song and he had learned it. 
What a melody it had! What swing and charm! Soon they 
were all singing it: 

*'Ever the wide world over, lass, ever the trail 
held true. 

Over the world and under the ivorld and hack 
at the last to you” 

What a thrill in the words, “Over the world and under 
the world,” Mehitable thought as she sat in the shadow her 
hands clasped together, a way she had when very happy or 
excited. Sweet scents floated to her from the wood. The 
homesick chirp of crickets was all about her; stars were blaz¬ 
ing in the blue sky. It was the night of her happiest birthday. 

On their way home they met a belated hay wagon, and 
knowing the good-natured lad who drove it, they hailed him, 
and the girls climbed up to the top. Slowly the horses wended 
their way home through the white moonlight. Robin, Johnnie, 
and the other boys walking beside them. ^ 

There was something enchanting in this ride on the silvery 
hay, slowly jogging through the scented night air, Mehitable 
thought, the nicest part of the whole day. 

As they came fip to the bars which led to Aunt Comfort’s 
lane, they met a leisurely moving figure coming up from the 
village. It was a farm boy who lived nearby. “Is that you, 
Mehitable Webster?” he asked, peering near-sightedly up at 
the hay. “Here’s a letter for your aunt. I just picked it up 
at the post office, along with some others. It’s got a kind o’ 
queer stamp on it, I guess it come from Chiny, or some place 
way off.” 


CHAPTER IV 

SOMETHING HAPPENS 

Miss Comfort sat idle; her hands were folded over a letter 
on her black alpaca lap. She was sitting in a straight chair 
by the window and she could see into the vine-covered kitchen 
window of the house next door. The girls, Mehitable and 
Barbara, were there. She could hear their voices faintly. It 
was Saturday afternoon and Barbara’s father would be home 
for early supper. She was making an iced cake and Mehitable 
was helping her. Mehitable’s helping that afternoon meant 
sitting on the kitchen table talking to Barbara as she beat her 
eggs and poured in her sugar. They were discussing the 
coming winter. Both were in their third year of the high 
school, the funny, drab-colored building with a square tower, 
at the far end of the village. 

“It is so dreadful having to get up’at six on the very cold 
mornings. I wonder, Mehitable, if we couldn’t stay over night 
sometimes with my cousin, Ada Clark. She’s very queer, but 
I know she would like to have us.” 

“If Aunt Comfort will let me. I’d like to. Do you remem¬ 
ber the time we ran away and spent the day with her? How 
funny it was. We each had three pieces of berry pie, and ^ 
she let us have all her old fashion books to cut up for paper 
dolls.” 

“Yes,” said Barbara, “And dressed up in Cousin Ebenezer’s 
clothes. You did look so funny in his swallow-tail coat and 


30 


Something Happens 31 

stove-pipe hat. It covered you all up. That was just after 
my eighth birthday, but it seems such a little time ago.’' 

They both laughed at the remembrance, though Mehitable 
grew sober when she thought of their homecoming after the 
delightful, adventurous day, for Aunt Comfort had not real¬ 
ized how the hours had flown without their knowing it, that 
she had not really meant to be so naughty, and had chastised 
her. The misery of the homecoming swallowed up the stolen, 
delightful pleasure of the day in her memory of it. 

It was three days since her birthday, and Aunt Comfort 
had not spoken of the letter that she had received that night, 
the letter with the foreign stamp. Mehitable had twice tried 
to speak of it, but something held her back. She was pretty 
much in awe of her aunt and felt a certain delicacy in bring¬ 
ing up the subject until it was mentioned to her. 

Miss Comfort was thinking of the letter as she sat alone in 
her cold-looking sitting room, a room so straight and trim 
and awed by its own black walnut furniture that not even the 
August sunshine streaming in the window or a great bowl 
filled with goldenrod that Mehitable had picked that morning, 
could brighten it. Miss Comfort looked old and sad as she 
sat in the sun by the window. 

Suddenly she leaned forward and called, ^^Mehitable.” Her 
voice sounded stern. 

The laughter and the soft voices in the kitchen next door 
ceased for a moment. Then one called, “Yes, Aunt Comfort.” 

“Come over here, will you please, I want you.” 

A moment’s silence, and then Barbara’s kitchen door 
slammed. There were flying steps across the lawn and up 
the veranda and into the sitting room. As Mehitable came up 
to her aunt, she looked quite a little girl. She wore a last 
year’s summer dress and her braid of brown hair fell over 
her shoulder. The ribbon had come of! and she held it in 


32 


Mehitable 


her hand. She looked up at her aunt a little fearfully. In 
years gone by, the tone with which she had called her had 
generally meant trouble. What had she done, she wondered, 
then her eyes fell on the letter in her aunt’s lap. 

“I’ve had a letter, Mehitable, from your mother’s school 
friend, Mrs. Lindsay. It concerns you, as of course all her 
letters do. There is no reason,” she added rather grimly, 
“why she should be concerned with me,” Miss Comfort opened 
the letter and glanced down the page. “She begins with some 
sort of foolishness about going to a garden party in a gin- 
riksha. Outlandish doings in an outlandish country, I think.” 

“Oh, Aunt Comfort, it’s Japan! Think, the cherry blos¬ 
soms and the little rustic bridges and the lights twinkling 
down the little streets at night! I was reading such a lovely 
story about it the other day. It must be the dreamiest country 
in the world.” 

“Hum! Perhaps a good place for you to keep away from 
then,” answered Miss Comfort, smiling as she spoke. Then 
she grew serious and went on with the letter. “She does 
come to the point after awhile. I’ll read you what she says: 
‘As you know I have always had the deepest interest in 
Rosamund’s child, even though I have never seen her. I 
am writing you now, very seriously, to tell you that it is my 
earnest wish to send her to a good school, and the one I have 
chosen is in Paris, or just outside in Neuilly.’ ” 

Mehitable uttered a sudden little cry, clasped her hands 
together and then stood still. 

Miss Comfort looked up from her letter and spoke rather 
sharply. “If you take on so. I’ll not read another word,” she 
said, and then went on slowly. Mehitable gripped her hands 
together and stood perfectly still. 

“ ‘As she is just sixteen, I think she should go this autumn, 
and as good luck will have it, there is a vacancy in this school 



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THE FIRST NIGHT AT THE CHATEAU 








Something Happens 33 

of Madame de Villiers. If you consent to Mehitable’s going, 
please cable me here at once so that I can cable Madame de 
Villiers. The school begins the last of September, and on the 
twenty-fifth of September, my friend. Miss Meadows, is sail¬ 
ing for England. She will be glad I know, to have Mehitable 
as a traveling companion, and will see that she reaches Paris 
safely. 

“ T enclose Miss Meadow’s address, and am writing her to 
engage Mehitable’s passage on the boat as soon as she hears 
from you. When I hear from you I’ll cable her the money 
for the voyage. Inclosed please find check for your cable, 
and, dear Miss Comfort, please do not mind there being some¬ 
thing left for some pretty things for Mehitable. Young girls 
love finery and I’ll be so happy to think she has what she 
wants’.” 

Miss Comfort folded the letter sharply together. ‘T guess 
I can fit out your wardrobe without any help from her,” she 
remarked, “I shall return the money for your clothes.” 

Mehitable looked at her aunt in speechless amazement. "‘Do 
you mean that I’m really going. Aunt Comfort?” she breathed. 

‘T dare not say no to such an offer. I’d not be doing my 
duty by you if I did. But it’s a serious thing, Mehitable, a 
serious thing.” 

Was it? Mehitable was not thinking of it that way, she 
was thinking of it as something too wonderful tO' be true. 
France—the French Revolution. What was the story she had 
read ? They had all acted it out in the wood. Oh, the dreams 
she had of France, quaint old-world streets! Chateaus! Paris! 
Was Paris anything like her dreams, she wondered. She 
raised her eyes to her aunt. 

‘Well,” she stammered, “it seems too wonderful to be 
true.” 

“It is true,” said her aunt quite gently. “It is true and I 


34 


Mehitahle 


suppose it is for your good, so I can’t say no.” Mehitahle put 
her hand on her aunt’s arm. It had always been so hard to 
tell her what she felt. 

‘‘Dear Aunt Comfort,” she said, “I—It seems so strange, 
but this will always, always be my dear home, and I’ll love it 
more than ever if I go away from it.” 

“If you go! Well, I guess you’re going all right. We can¬ 
not refuse such an offer. It means you’ll see the world after 
all, Mehitahle. You’ve always wanted to.” 

There was a moment’s silence in the room. Patchwork, 
always sure of a welcome, bounded upon Miss Comfort’s 
knee and stared at a fly on the white dimity curtain. Mehitahle 
knelt down beside him suddenly and stroked him. 

“Oh, Patchwork,” she whispered, “I’m going so far away 
from you.” 

Miss Comfort stood up hastily. “You’ll want to go over 
and tell Barbara, of course, so run along.” 

Barbara! To leave Barbara, she had not thought of that. 
It was all like a dream. How many times before she had 
gone to sleep at night she had dreamed of going away to a 
strange school world, but always Barbara had gone with her. 
She walked slowly across the lawn, up the steps and in at 
Barbara’s kitchen door. Barbara was just taking her cake 
out of the oven. She turned as Mehitahle came in, and gazed 
at her in astonishment. 

“Mehitahle,” she gasped, “what is it?” 

—it’s a dream come true, only I never dreamed of 
France. Mrs. Lindsay, mother’s friend, is sending me to 
school in France this Fall. Oh, look out Barbie, you’ll drop 
your cake!” 


CHAPTER V 


GOOD-BYE 

Besides Mehitable herself, perhaps no one was more aston¬ 
ished at the news of her going to France than Desire. She 
neither could nor would believe it. “Do you mean to say,’* 
she demanded of Miss Webster, the evening after she had 
told the news to Mehitable, “do you mean to say you’ll really 
let her go way over there alone? I never heard of such goings 
on. 

Miss Webster was sewing busily, sitting close tt> the window 
to have the last of the evening light. She smiled slightly as 
she took quick even stitches in a new petticoat for Mehitable. 
“It is what she has always wanted, Desire,” she answered. 
“Oh, well, you know Mehitable, Miss Webster, she has always 
had all sorts of fancies. She don’t really know anything about 
it all. What if she should get over there and not like it?” 

“Well, she will have to make the best of it. Desire; a little 
discipline won’t hurt Mehitable.” 

“Discipline—what’s she ever had but discipline,” Desire 
thought. Aloud she said, “It’s too late, I suppose, to change 
our minds, now you’ve gone and sent that cable. Well I 
just can’t believe it, that’s all. Seems like I ain’t seen a thing 
of Mehitable this week,” she added a little wistfully. 

“I told her to make the most of this week,” answered Miss 
Comfort. “She’ll have to be right here whenever I want her 
after Miss Prince comes next week. It will be a good deal 
of work to get all her clothes in order.” 

35 


36 


Mehitable 


Miss Comfort sighed as she spoke. She had returned the 
money that Mrs. Lindsay had sent for Mehitable’s clothes. 
Her pride would not let her accept it, though she was willing 
to be indebted to her for her niece’s education. Money was at 
all times scarce with Miss Comfort and this new expense was 
cl problem. 

^‘She won’t need any but the simplest kind of clothes, of 
course,” went on Miss Comfort. “I’m going to make over 
that old cherry and white silk of mine for her. It’s lain up 
garret in a trunk for three years. It’s good material, and it 
will make her a nice dress for best.” 

She looked up over her glasses as Mehitable came hur¬ 
riedly up the steps of the porch. “I was just telling Desire 
that I shall have my cherry silk made up into a best dress for 
you, Mehitable. I shall never want it again and it’s a fine 
piece of goods.” 

Mehitable stood still in the doorway, holding her big 
brown shade hat in her hands. She looked first at ther aunt 
and then at Desire, who was watching her. It seemed as 
though she were about to speak impulsively, but she checked 
herself, and when she did speak she said slowly, “It’s so good 
of you. Auntie, to give me your dress. But do you think I’ll 
need it ? It doesn’t seem right to take it someway.” 

Poor Mehitable! It was a hard moment for her. The cherry 
and white silk of her aunt’s she had always especially disliked, 
and there had often been a fear that sometime Aunt Comfort 
would suggest its being made over for her. Ordinarily, had 
the suggestion been made, Mehitable would have braved her 
aunt’s displeasure and rebelled against wearing it, even though 
she knew that in the end she would have to do as Aunt Com¬ 
fort wished; but because she was going away, so very far 
away, and because suddenly everything at home seemed 50 


37 


Good-Bye 

very dear to her, she could not say how she dreaded the 
thought of the cherry and white silk being made over for her 
to take to France. 

“Well, I guess you’ll need one handsome dress,” answered 
Miss Comfort. “Miss Prince is coming next week and I’ll 
want you right here to try on your things. She’s going to 
make you a nice brown traveling suit out of that big coat of 
mine, the one with the capes. It’s fine goods and I can match 
the material for collars and cuffs, I know.” 

Poor Mehitable said nothing for a moment, then she smiled 
a little uncertainly at Desire. “Barbara and I are going down 
to the village to the post office, if you don’t mind. Aunt Com¬ 
fort. I’ll be back early.” 

“Yes. See that you are, and you might stop at Miss 
Prince’s on your way home. Tell her I want her to surely be 
here the first thing Monday morning.” 

Mehitable joined Barbara outside imder the big apple tree 
where she was waiting, and together they crossed the front 
lawn and went on down the shaded road towards the village. 
The odor of apples was everywhere in the air. Trees whose 
branches bent to the ground with their store of fruit grew 
each side of the road. A very early September moon showed 
faintly through the pink and green coloring of the trees. 

The two friends walked arm in arm. They were always to¬ 
gether these days. Barbara never showed her unselfish love 
for her friend more than in the few weeks before she went 
away. Only once did she let some of her pent-up sorrow be 
seen and that was in the little old, gray schoolhouse. They 
came upon it suddenly around a corner on their way to the 
village, and Mehitable suggested that they go inside. 

“Just think, Barbie, it’s two years since we’ve been in here,” 
she said as they opened the rather dilapidated door. 


38 


Mehifable 


‘^Oh, Mehitable, do you remember graduation day and how 
happy we were in our new white dresses?’^ 

“Barb, I know Fm a dreadful, ungrateful girl, but it seems 
as if I couldn't bear to take that cherry and white check dress 
of Aunt Comfort's. She's having it made over for me and 
oh, I hate it—I hate it." 

This sounded so like Mehitable when she was naughty as 
a little girl, and angry with Aunt Comfort that Barbara 
couldn't help but smile. They had come into the schoolroom 
and had walked slowly to their old desks side by side. Sud¬ 
denly Barbara sank down on the seat in front of hers and 
buried her face in her arms, sobbing. Mehitable was beside 
her in an instant, her arms close around her. “Oh, Barbie," 
she said. “Oh, Barbie." 

“I didn't mean to be so silly," sobbed Barbara. “It—it 
just came over me all of a sudden—^the good times we've 
always had and—and—" 

“And we've thought we always would go on having them 
together," whispered Mehitable, as a tear splashed down her 
own face. “Oh, if you knew how I want you to go too. Night 
after night I've waked up suddenly and realized that I'm 
going off alone so far away from you. There never will be 
anyone as near as you. Barbie—never." 

Barbara sat up and dried her eyes smiling. “Well, maybe 
some day I’ll come sailing along too," she said. “But no. 
I'll always be just here. I was right, Mehitable, that day in 
the barn loft when I said that I would not be in the thing 
that would happen to you." 

She looked around the drab schoolroom with it's rows of 
desks, its platform, its stove, which was never taken down 
in summer and which some artistic soul had trimmed with 
greens. The familiar odor of chalk and dust and ink was in 


39 


Good-Bye 

the air. All the old days seemed to gather around them. 
Mehitable wiped the tears from her eyes and stood up. What 
could she say to comfort Barbara? 

“ril try to make you see it all as very very near, Barbara, 
ril write everything that happens every day. It won't be 
much. It won’t be as though you were there,” she added with 
a catch in her breath. 

Barbara was quite herself now. She too wiped her eyes and 
stood up. “Oh, yes. I’ll love your letters. What fun it will 
be going to the post office and finding a big fat letter from 
vou. And your diary! Mehitable, promise you’ll keep it faith¬ 
fully.” 

They were standing by the window now, looking out at the 
bare playground in front of the little schoolhouse. “Yes,” 
Mehitable answered, “I’ve written in it every day as you 
know. The very first thing I wrote was about my birthday, 
and then I had the wonderful news to put in about my going 
to France. Think of having that to put in your diary right 
off. Oh, Barbie,” changing the subject suddenly, “remember 
the time Miss Perkins made us sit at opposite ends of the room 
for two weeks to punish us for whispering? It was the only 
time we were ever separated.” 

They closed the door gently and came out on the road; 
stopped at the post office which was just below on the main 
street of the village; found there a letter for Mehitable; and, 
arm in arm, their heads bent close together, read it as they 
made their way slowly homeward. The letter was from Miss 
Meadows, Mrs. Lindsay’s friend, with whom Mehitable was 
to travel. Several had already come from her for Miss Com¬ 
fort, but this was the first one that was addressed to Mehitable, 
herself. It was short and cordial, giving the news that 
Fraulein Brettle, the German governess at the Chateau d'' 


40 


Mehi fable 


Estes, who was doing summer tutoring in France, would meet 
Mehitable in Calais and take her the rest of the journey. It 
had been arranged by cable and to the two girls it seemed 
nothing short of a miracle. It somehow made a reality of 
what to them could not help seeming more or less of a dream. 

The trees cast deep shadows across the road. They passed 
the quiet graveyard and stopping in front of a very small 
white house close to the road, spoke with a thin, gentle¬ 
looking woman who sat in the doorway. They both greeted 
her and Mehitable said, “My Aunt Comfort wanted me to 
ask you to be sure to come to us the first thing Monday morn¬ 
ing. You know Fm going away and so there is a good deal 
to be done. Fd like to have one very pretty dress,” she added 
almost involuntarily. [ 

“Well, Mehitable, Fll do my best for you, but land knows 
it^s no use going against any notion of your aunt’s. She’s the 
one to say what you’ll wear and I guess we can’t fix any¬ 
thing that will come up to the grand dresses you’ll see over 
there in Paris. Why, it’s the center of fashion—” Miss Prince 
could have talked on for some time, but Mehitable politely ob¬ 
served that her aunt wanted her home early and the two 
walked slowly on. Suddenly two dark figures appeared from 
around a corner. j 

“It’s Robin and Johnnie!” exclaimed Barbara. The boys 
came up to them and Johnnie and Mehitable walked on ahead 
of the other two. | 

“We’ve hardly had any talk since the letter came. Oh, 
Johnnie, you ought to be the one to go, you ought to have 
the chance.” | 

“Yes,” laughed Johnnie. “I’d be a fine pupil for your 
Madame, wouldn’t I?” ^ 


Good-Bye 41 

Mehitable laughed too. ‘‘Oh, I didn’t mean my school 
of course,” she said. “But Johnnie, your turn is coming.” 

“I’m glad your’s has come first, Mehitable,” Johnnie 
answered bravely. “Isn’t it funny,” he added, “we were 
wondering that afternoon in the berry patch if we would ever 
see the world ?” 

“Yes,” assented Mehitable, “and all the while the letter was 
coming nearer and nearer. For a whole month it had been 
on its way from Japan across the Pacific Ocean. Doesn’t 
the Pacific Ocean seem very far away to you, Johnnie?” 

“Not so far as France,” he answered. 

“France,” almost whispered Mehitable. “Doesn’t it say so 
much, just the one word ‘France’ ?” 

Pobin and Barbara were walking beside them now, and 
Robin looked at Mehitable with rather a wistful expression 
in his dark eyes. 

“So you’re going to sail the ocean blue, really be almost 
a whole week on the sea ?” It was the sea that Robin thought 
about more than anything else. 

“Oh, Mehitable, is it true?” exclaimed Barbara suddenly. 
“Someway I just can’t realize all these things.” 

“No more Latin for you with old Dobbs; no cold early 
mornings; no arithmetic class,” observed Robin. 

“No sleigh rides or Friday evening candy-pulls. You’re 
leaving out the nice things, Robin,” said Mehitable as they 
went down the lane toward the barn. Crickets chirped lazily; 
everywhere was the scent of ripe apples. The old house looked 
sleepy and rather sad in the evening quiet. 

The next ten days were such busy ones for Mehitable that 
she always looked back at that evening as being really the 
last one when the four of them were alone together. On Mon- 


42 


Mehitahle 


day morning Miss Prince arrived and the dressmaking began 
in earnest, or rather, thought poor Mehitable, '^the fixing 
over.” 

Miss Comfort was very insistent that Mehitable should be 
constantly about in case she should be needed for a trying on. 
Barbara of course was present at nearly all of these ceremon¬ 
ials, and occasionally the Bently girls would come in. They 
were there in the sun-filled sitting room that had been given 
over to the dressmaking, one early September morning. The 
brown traveling suit was ready. Quite neat it looked to Miss 
Comfort and the little village dressmaker, but although she 
didn’t say so, it fell very short of Mehitable’s dreams. It looked 
just like Cherryville. One could not imagine, somehow, wear¬ 
ing it in Paris. She disliked still more the cherry and white 
check silk. It was being tried on her this particular morning 
that the Bentlys called. Miss Prince was kneeling on the 
floor pinning the hem as they came in. 

“My, Mehitable, it’s lovely,” said Sadie and Ruby in one 
breath. “What color sash will you wear with it?” added 
Sadie. 

“Red,” put in Miss Prince, speaking in an odd muffled 
way as her mouth was full of pins. 

“I’d rather have black velvet,” Mehitable said, rather 
sharply. She looked at her Aunt Comfort as she spoke. 

“Well,” said Miss Comfort, meditatively, “maybe that 
would be best, black wears better. Now do stand still, 
Mehitable. Miss Prince can’t do a thing while you’re so 
restless. Yes, that’s a great success. It’s silk that will wear, 
too. Now don’t you think too much about clothes, Mehitable; 
you’re going to school. You’ll only need a few plain things. 
It’s work you’re going for, not to prance around in fancy 
fixings.” 


43 


Good-Bye 

With this last remark, Miss Comfort left the room. After 
she had gone Mehitable looked at Barbara. '‘1 dreamed last 
night I had on a white dress. It was soft, oh! very, very 
thin and soft, and around my waist I wore a green sash, very 
pale green,” she added dreamily. 

f ‘‘Green would never do for you, Mehitable,” mumbled Miss 
Prince, as she sat back a moment to look at the result of her 
pinning. 

I Barbara would not have this. “Of course she could wear 
green, a soft, lovely wood green,” said Barbara loyally. Miss 
Prince looked for a moment at Mehitable's pale freckled face. 
She liked her, but she thought her very plain. Everyone 
worked busily that morning, for Mehitable's trunk was to go 
that evening direct to the steamer. It was wonderfully packed 
by Aunt Comfort, so neat that the Bentlys and Barbara looked 
in at its contents with awe. Everything was ready except 
the cherry and white check silk which would be carefully 
folded on top the last thing. i 

^ Barbara’s present was to go with Mehitable on the train 
in the old brown bag. It was a pink and white traveling case 
that she had made herself. She had begun to make it the day 
after Mehitable had told her the news, and she had sewed 
away at it with almost feverish energy. It helped her somehow 
to bear the approaching separation, she could not have told 
just why. 

It was quite late in the afternoon before Miss Prince had 
finished. Miss Comfort went with her to the village on an 
errand that she wished to see about herself. Mehitable looked 
after them as they went out of the gate and then turned 
back and went into the house. She glanced through to the 
kitchen. Desire was ironing. She had her back toward 
Mehitable and did not know that she was there. Mehitable 


44 


Mehitable 


saw her draw her hand across her eyes several times. “It’s 
because I’m going away,” she whispered to herself. Suddenly 
a great longing to stay came over her. She could not have 
explained it. The magic and romance and charm of her ad¬ 
venture were still there for her, but her home and those she 
loved suddenly became so dear, so precious. She went on into 
the living room and stood before her trunk. The lid was 
still raised, for Miss Comfort was going to fold in the silk 
dress the last thing. Mehitable, as she stood there, had a 
daring idea. It had been with her more or less all day. In 
the night she had first thought of it. She was ashamed of it 
and would not have told anyone for the world. Could she— 
would she dare to take what had for so long been her dearest 
possession—could she manage somehow to take Madeline, her 
favorite doll? 

The rain beat rather heavily against the windows. Sud¬ 
denly there was a loneliness everywhere. No one would know. 
Mehitable ran quickly up to the second floor and more slowly 
on up the narrow attic stairs. Her heart beat quickly. For 
several moments she stood there alone in the musty silence 
of the attic. Then she went swiftly over to an old trunk in 
a far corner and kneeling down, lifted the lid and peered! 
inside. She unfolded a silk shawl, and looked at the smiling, 
blue-eyed countenance of a doll, dressed in a short blue lawn 
frock. She covered her with the shawl, closed the lid of the 
trunk and ran swiftly down to the living room. She knelt 
by her trunk, lifting the heavy tray, then looked quickly over 
her shoulder, to satisfy herself that no one was watching. She 
lifted out a number of heavy garments and laid her doll care¬ 
fully in the trunk; folded the things back neatly, lifted the 
tray on again and stood up. At that moment Mehitable felt 
less lonely than at any time within the past few days. Part of 


45 


Good-Bye 

her was going with her, part of the old days, the old life, a 
very dear and tangible reminder of so much that she loved. 
The color was high in her cheeks, and as Barbara ran across 
in the rain and came in at the side door, Mehitable looked 
very much as though she had been caught in a crime. 

‘‘Why, Mehitable Webster, how funny you look, and what 
rosy cheeks you have!’^ exclaimed Barbara. 

Mehitable only smiled. She could not somehow tell even 
Barbara. 

The last day came all too soon. How good were Robin 
and Johnnie. How they went on errands, strapped up the bag, 
bought Mehitable's ticket. Even Aunt Comfort was pleased 
with them, and invited them to have supper before they all 
went with Mehitable to the train. 

It was a quiet supper. Desire waited on them, her eyes red 
with crying. Aunt Comfort sat grimly behind the tea cups. 
Barbara tried to talk cheerfully, but it was rather a failure. 
Robin was the gayest one, but even he seemed somehow 
affected by the general gloom. 

“YouTe sure you have your rubbers in your bag, Mehita¬ 
ble asked Miss Comfort suddenly, noting at the same time 
that Barbara was eating nothing and that Johnnie had re¬ 
fused a second piece of cake. 

“Now see here,” she said severely, “anyone would think 
this was Mehitable’s funeral. I want you all to cheer right up. 
I never saw such doleful faces. Robin Ward, you finish your 
peach preserves and you Johnnie, eat another piece of cake 
and a big one.” 

They all laughed at this and someway felt better. Miss 
Comfort fastened here eyes on her niece. “As for you, 
Mehitable, you have a journey before you, the first of your 
life, and I don’t propose that you’ll start it by starving your- 


46 


Mehitahle 


self. Sit up straight and eat your supper.’" Poor Aunt Com¬ 
fort, the parting was harder for her than for any of them, 
had they but known it. 

They all walked to the station, Robin and Johnnie carrying 
the bag between them, for it was very heavy. Quite a little 
group they made as the train pulled in. Aunt Comfort, Desire 
and old Silas, Barbara, Robin and Johnnie, the Bentlys and 
Lucy Graves, the doctor’s little girl. 

They had only a few moments to wait before the train. 
There would be so many things they would want to say after^ 
ward, but, in the excitement of the moment, they were not 
thought of. Mehitahle was to meet Miss Meadows at the 
Grand Central Station in the morning, and they were sailing 
at noon. Aunt Comfort gave Mehitahle instructions as to 
what she was to do in case Miss Meadows missed her. 

‘‘Remember you’re to take a taxi right to the Waldorf Hotel 
and wait for her there,” she said anxiously. “Don’t get to 
dreaming in the middle of New York, Mehitahle, keep your 
wits about you.” 

Just as the train pulled in Robin gave a shout. There, com¬ 
ing toward them, was Patchwork. He had come to the sta¬ 
tion to say goodbye to Mehitahle! As the conductor called, 
“All aboard!” she sprang forward, holding him close to her 
face, her tears wetting his warm fur, and as there was only 
time after that to jump on the train, her last kiss was for 
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CHAPTER VI 

THE VOYAGE 

Mehitable turned off the electric light of her berth and 
pushed up the window curtain. They were rushing past a 
meadow, silver in the moonlight, then a quick flash of trees, 
fields again, a sleeping village with only a faint light twinkling 
here and there, a village like dear Cherryville which she had 
left behind. 

It was enchanting lying there, being whirled through space, 
the wonder of the night all about her. She had had journeys 
of only an hour or so before. This sort of traveling was 
quite new to her. In imagination she had often journeyed to 
New York, now she was actually going there; and beyond 
New York, the sea and France! 

She fell asleep quite suddenly and was awakened by a shak¬ 
ing of the green curtain of her berth and a voice saying, 
**New York in half an hour, missy.’’ 

It was the voice of the kind colored porter who had opened 
the window for her the night before. Mehitable was ready 
when the train pulled slowly into the Grand Central Station. 
She gave her bag and umbrella to a porter and followed him 
down the long busy platform. She had Miss Meadows’ photo¬ 
graph in her purse bag, but was sure she would recognize 
her from Mrs. Lindsay’s description. Yes! there she was, 
standing near the entrance door, a kindly middle-aged woman 
in a well-fitting, dark-blue traveling suit. She saw Mehitable 
at once, came hurriedly up to her and held out both hands. 

“Here you are, dear. How splendid that we have met so 
47 


48 Mehitable 

promptly. Now we will go and have a good breakfast. Tve 
a taxi waiting.” 

She saw that Mehitable looked rather white and tired and 
put her arm through the little brown clad one as they fol¬ 
lowed the porter to the waiting taxi. It was so early that 
there was very little traffic, and they rode swiftly down Fifth 
Avenue. Mehitable had a glimpse of the big library at the 
corner of Forty-Second Street, and flashes of color and won¬ 
der from the shop windows. Then they drew up suddenly 
in front of a big brownish-red building. 

'This is the Waldorf where we will have breakfast,” said 
Miss Meadows, as they came into the rather deserted entrance 
hall and walked on through to the dining room. 

They sat at a table near the window and began their break¬ 
fast. Mehitable enjoyed her iced melon though she wa^ 
almost too excited to eat. The coffee and rolls were very 
good, however, so was the Spanish omelet that she and Miss 
Meadows shared together. Miss Meadows was so jolly and 
kind that Mehitable began to get over her shyness and was 
soon making her companion laugh over the description of 
Patchwork’s coming to the station to bid her goodbye. 
Mehitable laughed, too, but the tears were very near. 

“Our boat sails at noon, and I think we had better go on 
board as soon as possible. We’ll take the tube under the 
river. That will be an interesting experience for you.” 

“Our boat sails at noon”—what a thrill the words gave 
Mehitable! So she was actually going! Somehow it was so 
hard to realize it. Everything was so strange! It was all 
interesting and pleasant, except the “tube” under the river. 
Poor Mehitable! Miss Meadows had no idea of how her 
little companion was suffering! The noise, the crowds, the 
acid smell of the underground tired and bewildered her. She 



AUNT ROSE MATHILUE 






















The Voyage 49 

gfave a sigh of relief when at last they were on the dock and 
the fresh salt air was blowing in their faces. 

Miss Meadows suggested that Mehitable stay on deck to 
watch the harbor. When the boat sailed out, she herself, 
went below with the porter to see that their baggage was safe. 

Mehitable stood near the deck rail and gazed at the beauty of i 
the scene before her. As they glided slowly down the harbor 
the great irregular structures of the skyscrapers stood out 
against the September blue of the sky. Ferry boats chugged 
back and forth. A great ocean liner gleamed in the sunlight 
and, more lovely than all else, the Statue of Liberty seemed 
to breathe a message of goodbye. 

Cherryville was somewhere beyond the city—so far, far 
away it seemed already, but oh, so dear! She was interrupted 
in her thoughts by Miss Meadows’ voice. ‘‘Well, dear,” she 
said, “here are some surprises for you. Letters and packages. 
Come, let us go find our steamer chairs and then look at what 
our friends have sent us.” 

Miss Meadows, being an old and experienced traveler, had 
arranged for their chairs to be placed in a sheltered corner of 
the deck and they were soon cosily settled in them for the 
afternoon. 

“I always have lunch on deck, but if you would rather. I’ll 
go down with you to-day,” Miss Meadows remarked. Mehit¬ 
able assured her that she would far rather have her lunch on 
deck. She smiled at the idea as being great fun and began 
to open one of her parcels. It proved to be a big tin box of her 
favorite peppermint sticks. How welcome they were. Both 
she and Miss Meadows took one at once and nibbled the crisp 
sweetness as they looked at the rest of their mail. 

The peppermint sticks were from Robin and there was a 
splendid book from Johnnie. It was “The Best American 


50 


Mehitable 


Poets,” his own copy. He had given it to her because he 
knew that she loved it. A note from Barbara, just a few 
lines hastily scrawled, full of loving wishes and saying little 
of her own sorrow over her friend’s departure. There was 
also a letter from Aunt Comfort. Mehitable read it slowly 
and her lips trembled a little when she had finished it. This 
was the letter: 

Dear Mehitable: 

As you know. Pm not given to talking very much and 
I think it will be better to write these words than to say 
them. You are going out into the world and you are 
going to find that it is not the remarkably pleasant place 
that you imagined it to be. You will find that you are not 
a very important person after all. You will be only one 
among a great many others. There may be things that 
will hurt you very much. You will often wish heartily 
that you were back again in plain old-fashioned Cherry- 
ville. 

I am not writing these things to discourage you, but to 
remind you that your grandfather was a Major, in the 
War of the Rebellion, that he was honored for his bravery 
under fire. Just hold on to the remembrance of that when 
things seem hard, and you will hold your own. 

One thing more,—don’t dream so much, Mehitable. 
You have your own way to make in the world. You can¬ 
not afford to idle your time away. Be grateful for this 
opportunity, and make the best of it. I am expecting a 
great deal from you. You are all I have left. Except for 
your grandparents, who died when I was only a girl, and 
for your father, you are all I have ever had. I have tried 
to do the best I could for you, have punished you when 


51 


The Voyage 

my heart has cried out against it. You are very honest 
and, with all your fancies and carelessness, you are fairly 
sensible, so remember all that I have told you and come 
back to me the girl I long for you to be. 

Your loving. 

Aunt Comfort."^ 

Mehitable sat still for some moments after reading the let¬ 
ter. Tears came to her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She 
wiped them away quietly and read the letter over once again. 
What a careless, unseeing girl she had been not to have tried 
to understand her aunt better. How much better her aunt un¬ 
derstood her than she had ever dreamed. The letter helped 
her. It had come when she most wanted it. Aunt Comfort 
had given her the courage that she needed. She would not 
forget about her grandfather; how it thrilled her to realize 
what a brave soldier he had been. She had known it before, 
but seeing it written in Aunt Comfort’s letter made a great im¬ 
pression on her. Could it be Aunt Comfort who had written 
those loving words, ‘‘You are all I have ever had!” Mehitable 
was too young to realize that there is almost always a time in 
the lives of everyone when the heart speaks involuntarily of 
what is nearest to it. 

The deck steward appeared with the menu card, and it 
was fun choosing what they would have. Mehitable ordered 
chicken salad and ice cream, and, at Miss Meadows’ sugges¬ 
tion, had first some hot beef soup. They greatly enjoyed their 
lunch out there in the sunshine, with the blue and gold sea 
dancing before them, and sea gulls following them. Everyone 
was out on deck it seemed. Mehitable saw two girls of about 
her own age at the far end and hoped to get acquainted with 
them. She had never known any girls but those in and around 


52 Mehitable 

Cherryville. What would these be like, she wondered. 

It was two days before she did make their acquaintance, for 
it grew very rough off the banks of Newfoundland and 
Mehitable stayed tucked up in her bunk in the stateroom. It 
was so rough that the portholes had to be shut and the waves 
made a gray curtain against them. Mehitable lived on grape¬ 
fruit and wondered that she had ever cared for corn roasts 
or fudge parties. Food seemed to her as dust and ashes. 

On the third day, with Miss Meadows’ help, she came on 
deck. The ?un was shining, the sea quiet, and there were 
three days left in which to enjoy the shipboard life. She did 
meet the two girls she had seen the first day, and played 
quoits with them for hours at a time. She found them not 
unlike her friends at home, except that they talked of things 
she did not know about, house parties and motor trips, the 
Boston symphony the winter before. And especially did they 
speak of clothes. Mehitable had not known before that they 
could play so large a part in one’s life, but they seemed of 
great importance to the young Misses Wetherall. They were 
interested to know that she was going to Madame de Vel- 
lier’s school. They had friends who had been there. Mehit¬ 
able drank in all they had to say of it with great interest. “It’s 
a very fashionable school,” one of them said, but she did not 
glance at Mehitable’s plain little badly-fitting suit as she spoke. 

Very soon came the day before landing. In the morning 
they would reach Liverpool. Miss Meadows and Mehitable 
were walking the deck together early in the afternoon, and 
Miss Meadows was talking in her cheery way. 

“It’s too bad,” she said, “that you are having such a round¬ 
about journey, but Fd engaged my passage on this line be¬ 
fore I had Mrs. Lindsay’s cable. Never mind, you’ll have at 
least a glimpse of the British Isles.” 


53 


The Voyage 

‘‘Oh, Miss Meadows!” 

There was so much Mehitable wanted to say. Somehow she 
felt so young and inexperienced before Miss Meadows’ assur¬ 
ance. How lightly she spoke of the British Isles! The old 
world, the wonderful world she had so dreamed about. 

Someone called to them from the far end of the deck. It 
was an elderly man, an acquaintance of Miss Meadows’. He 
waved off toward the west. 

“See,” he called, “the coast of Ireland!” 

“The coast of Ireland I” Could it be true ? Mehitable folded 
her hands on the deck railing and gazed and gazed until the 
sea and sky and faint blue hills seemed to mingle together in 
the sunshine, a mass of blue and gold. 

“They might be clouds,” said Mehitable, turning a moment 
toward Miss Meadows. “But they’re really Ireland. Oh, 
shall I ever go there, I wonder ? Shall I ever see a bog and a 
wishing well ?” 

“You probably will, Mehitable,” laughed Miss Meadows. 
“So many of your dreams seem to be coming true, why not 
that one?” 

Mehitable shook her head, smiling too. She had so often 
made up stories of Ireland, so loved the Irish fairy tales! How 
enchanting really to go there! How fascinating to think of the 
country that lay behind those hills! Slowly they faded into 
the blue of the sky as the boat sailed on toward England. 
Mehitable’s last thought as she fell asleep that night was, 
“To-morrow I’ll be in Europe!” 


CHAPTER VII 

THE END OF THE JOURNEY 

It was raining as they came up the Mersey. The boat train 
lay alongside the dock, and after some little fussing about 
their baggage, they found themselves alone in a first class 
compartment on their way to Dover, where Mehitable was to 
board the boat for Calais. Her eyes were bright with excite¬ 
ment as she sat with her face close to the window looking out 
at England. 

The sun had come out suddenly and it touched green fields 
and low hedges. It rested lovingly on the roofs of little 
thatched cottages and on the late roses that trailed about the 
cottage doors. 

“It’s England,” Mehitable kept saying to herself, “it’s dear 
England.” She was so quiet that Miss Meadows asked her if 
she felt very tired. 

“No,” answered Mehitable, “not tired, only happy, so 
happy. Oh, the hedges and the lanes and—and everything. 
I’m really here. If you only knew how wonderful and strange 
it seems to me.” 

“Have you read your note?” reminded Miss Meadows. 
She had had several letters from English friends brought on 
the boat by the pilot, and there had been a foreign-looking one 
for Mehitable. 

“No, Miss Meadows, I forgot it, because I’ve been so busy 
looking out of the window. I’ll read it right away. It is from 
Eraulein, I’m sure.” 


55 


The End of the Journey 

It proved to be a short note from Fraulein Brettle, who 
was to meet Mehitable at the dock in Calais. She enclosed her 
photograph, which was that of a dark, stout-looking woman 
who wore glasses. Mehitable gazed at it with great interest. 
This was one of the teachers at the Chateau d’Estes, some one 
she would be seeing every day. She handed the photograph 
to Miss Meadows, who looked at it critically. 

“She looks kind,’' she remarked. “I hope you’re going to 
be very happy, Mehitable. You must write to me. Later in 
the winter I shall be in P^ris, and you must come out with 
me very often. You will be very glad to, I imagine,” she 
added smiling, “you’ll want to go to Rumplemeyer’s and have 
some cakes.” 

“Oh, do tell me about Rumpelmeyer’s, Miss Meadows. Is it 
a bakery? Is it one of the fascinating places where you have 
cakes with cherries and with whipped cream on top ?” 

“Yes, it’s a sort of glorified bakery, Mehitable, where the 
very smart people go and where the cakes are very good in¬ 
deed, and very expensive.” 

“I wonder if it’s like the bakery shop in Cyrano de Ber- 
g^erac? The cakes sound sO' good, so> very, very good, when 
you read about them there.” 

Miss Meadows laughed and patted Mehitable’s knee. “Oh, 
you amusing child,” she exclaimed, “to think of your having 
read Cyrano de Bergerac. When I come to Paris I’ll take 
you to see it.” 

The train had stopped at a small station, and a small boy 
put his head in at their compartment window. “Tea, please?” 
he asked, at the same time depositing a big wicker basket on 
the floor. “Yes, indeed,” answered Miss Meadows, handing 
him a coin from her purse, “it’s just what we do want.” 

The train started on again and the two had a merry tea in 


56 


Mehitable 


their funny little box-like compartment. In the basket they 
found a pot of hot tea; a covered dish of hot buttered muffins 
and several neat slices of seed cake. 

'This is your first English tea, Mehitable. EIow do you 
like it?’' 

“It’s almost the very nicest meal I ever had,” answered 
Mehitable, smiling. “Almost as nice as supper in the hollow 
at home, only quite—quite different.” 

All tooi soon they reached Dover, and before she knew it 
Mehitable found herself on the deck of a boat again, being 
tucked up in her steamer chair by Miss Meadows in a very 
sheltered corner. The wind blew keenly, as only a British 
Channel wind can blow. Its dampness seemed to search 
through the two thick steamer rugs that covered Mehitable. 
Miss Meadows looked at her a little anxiously. 

“I do not want to say goodbye to my dear little traveling 
companion, and only wish I could go on to Paris now. Send 
me a telegram as soon as you meet Fraulein in Calais, if 
there is time before the train starts. You know my London 
address, the Hotel Cecil. Now goodbye, dear, goodbye.” 

Mehitable could only put her arms around her, and say a 
little chokingly, “Oh, thank you. Miss Meadows, so many, 
many times, and do come to Paris just as soon as you can. 
Goodbye—if only you were coming too.” 

There was much shouting and bustle, people hurrying on at 
the last minute, mail bags being thrown on deck, chains rat¬ 
tling. Miss Meadows was the last one to leave the boat. The 
whistle sounded, and they were off to France. 

It grew rough almost at once, so rough that Mehitable 
could only shut her eyes so that she could not see the great 
gray mountains of waves that loomed up before her. The 
deck was crowded, because every bit of room below was filled. 
Mehitable was grateful for her sheltered corner. “To-night I’ll 


57 


The End of the Journey 

be in Paris/' she thought. She tried to console herself with 
this. “And in fifty minutes Fll be in Calais!" They were a long 
fifty minutes. For the first time in her life Mehitable felt ut¬ 
terly alone. It was a big adventure, but she was relieved when 
the dark shores of France hove in sight, and gladly gathered 
her bag and umbrella together and made her way slowly down 
the gang plank. Yes, there was Fraulein waiting at the foot. 
They recognized each other at once, and Fraulein grasped her 
firmly by the hand. 

“Good-day, Miss Webster,” she said in funny broken Eng¬ 
lish. “You have had a bad journey—^yes? Well, come, we 
have some minutes before the going of the train. 

Mehitable explained that she wished to send a telegram to 
Miss Meadows and they had just time to do this before their 
train started. There were several people in the compartment 
with them. A fat, fussy woman with innumerable parcels in¬ 
sisted on having the window closed, much to Mehitable's dis¬ 
comfort, though Fraulein seemed to approve. “Too much air 
is a bad thing,” she said. Mehitable did not agree with her, 
but she did not like to say so. Just then another woman, who 
evidently wanted the window open, began to talk very rapidly 
in French to the one who had closed it. Mehitable could not 
understand what she said, but there was no doubt about her 
indignation. The discussion ended in the window's being 
opened a half inch and all was peaceful again. 

They found that they could have dinner on the train, so 
after some time Mehitable walked in FrMein's wake through 
the very narrow aisles of the different cars until they reached 
the little dining car. They found a table for two in a corner 
and were soon partaking of hot soup, very welcome to 
Mehitable after her tempestuous voyage. 

Fraulein grew quite talkative over her soup. She told 
Mehitable about her three nieces in Hanover, who were so 


58 


Mehitable 


accomplished, so industrious, Mehitable was sure they must be 
quite model young ladies. She was interested to hear about 
them, but was so full of curiosity to know about the Chateau 
d’Estes that she could not resist asking questions. She found 
Fraulein not at all formidable and enjoyed listening to her 
funny English. 

“Tell me please, Fraulein,” she said, “tell me about the 
school and the girls.” 

The subject evidently did not interest Fraulein, she would 
much rather have talked of her own family and its many 
merits. “Well, what do you then desire to know?” she asked 
as the waiter put a platter of chops and French fried potatoes 
down before her. The chops had little white paper frills which 
Mehitable thought very funny. 

“Oh, I want to know everything, Fraulein. You see it’s all 
so new to me, I’m so very, very interested in it all.” 

“So interesting then to go to school! Well, well, it is not so 
interesting tO' teach all day a great many stupid young 
maidens,” said Fraulein, glancing at Mehitable’s eager face 
as she spoke. 

“She is quite plain,” she thought, “but she does not fidget 
or giggle. And what a nice sensible brown suit she wears. 
Yes, she does not seem as foolish as most of them.” She 
smiled at Mehitable. “You will soon see for yourself what 
it is like. In an hour’s time we shall to Paris come.” 

She eyed with much disfavor some cherry tarts that the 
waiter had put down on the table with the coffee. “Madame 
de Villiers would not approve of your eating those,” she re¬ 
marked. “But it is the last time that you can eat all that you 
wish, so you may have them.” 

“Don’t they eat cherry tarts at the Chauteau d’Estes?” 
asked Mehitable. 

“Madame does not approve of pastry,” answered Fraulein. 


59 


The End of the Journey 

'^But she is very good,” she went on loyally. “She allows her 
pupils to have a pound of biscuits each month, very good 
ones, oh, quite excellent, from the establishment of Felix 
Potin in Paris.” 

“A pound of biscuits a month seems so little. They must 
vanish very quickly,” ventured Mehitable. 

“If one is greedy, yes. Otherwise they last all the month. 
The foolish eat theirs at once and then they are desolated, but 
a very few are sensible and save theirs.” 

Mehitable would have liked to ask many more questions, 
but Fraulein rose from the table, remarking that very soon 
they would reach Paris. They gathered together their be¬ 
longings in the compartment, and before they knew it were 
at the Gare du Nord. All was confusion there. Fraulein 
clasped Mehitable firmly by the arm and did not let go until, 
with their luggage, they were safely installed in a little bus. 
Fraulein drew a sigh of relief, indeed she had seemed very 
nervous during their rush through the station, quite differ¬ 
ent from her attitude in the train. 

“Oh, thank the kind Heavens that we are at last free from 
the station, the noise, the rude way that they push one aside. 
And the luggage carts, they are the worst of all,” she ex¬ 
claimed as they drove rapidly along. 

It was so dark that Mehitable could not see very much ex¬ 
cept a flash of brilliant lights, and a great sweep of wide boule¬ 
vard. She longed to ask questions, longed to know where she 
was; but Fraulein sat with her eyes closed and she did not like 
to disturb her. “This is Paris! This is Paris!” she kept say¬ 
ing to herself. 

At last they turned into a great wide avenue. Motors flashed 
past them on all sides; through the darkness gleamed golden 
lights and far above were the stately outlines of great build¬ 
ings. The moon shone peacefully. Mehitable saw it suddenly, 


60 


Mehi fable 


and it gave her an odd thrill. “It's the same moon I’ve seen 
in Cherryville,” she thought. 

Through the dim light, suddenly loomed a great white 
arch. Mehitable gave an exclamation and Fraulein sat up. 
“Oh,” she said, “here is the Arc de Triomphe. We are nearly 
there.” 

At the Porte Maillot, one of the big gates leading out of 
Paris to its suburbs, they were stopped a moment by a blue- 
clad official, but Fraulein had only to mention the name of 
Madame de Villiers school, and they were allowed to pass on 
at once. 

The streets were not so brilliantly lighted now. Very soon 
they turned off a rather public street onto a long quiet ave¬ 
nue. “This is the Boulevard Victor Hugo, and we are nearly 
there,” explained Fraulein. 

After a few moments the driver drew up sharply and they 
stepped out. They had stopped in front of a high stone wall. 
Fraulein paid the man and then touched a button in the wall. 
After a few moments they heard steps along the gravel walk 
inside, and the door was opened by a small, dark man who 
peered out at them, nodded to Fraulein and, without a glance 
at Mehitable, let them in. 

They followed the man servant up a wide avenue, dark be¬ 
cause of the trees that sheltered it on either side. They came 
to the end of it suddenly and a great gray house stood be^ 
fore them, dark and stately, grim and mysterious in spite of 
the many lights that shone from its windows. 

Mehitable clasped her hands together and looked up at if. 
“It is whispering secrets,” she breathed. 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE CHATEAU d'eSTES 

They came from the darkness of the garden into a brightly 
lighted hall. A wide twisting stairway led to the floor above. 
From a distance came a sound of music and a confusion of 
many voices. Fraulein turned to Mehitable, saying, ‘Stay 
here a moment. I will go and say that you have come.'' 

She went on through a door at the left, and Mehitable was 
alone in the great hallway of the Chateau d'Estes. A fire 
burned dimly in a far corner. There was a strange looking 
suit of armor in another corner. A huge tapestry rug was 
thrown over a couch near the staircase. 

Mehitable stood alone near the door where Fraulein had left 
her. She was very tired, but somehow she did not think of 
sitting down. It was so strange and bright that for a moment 
she shut her eyes away from it all. The music still continued. 

It was a waltz and Mehitable never heard it in after years 
without thinking of that first few minutes at the Chateau 
d'Estes. 

Suddenly through the music she heard voices. They were 
quite near her and although she did not look up she realized 
that they came from the stairs above. She stood with her 
hands folded on her umbrella, looking down at her bag, appar- ‘ 
ently not listening, but she heard quite distinctly what was 
said. 

“The new girl who came with FrMein. What an odd 
sight!" 

“Hush, Tip, she might hear you." 

61 


62 


Mehitable 


‘'She can’t, with all the music, Una darling. Oh, what a 
funny sight she is and do you see her bag? Isn’t it weird? 
It might be her great-grandfather’s!” 

“Don’t be so critical of anyone who has just come off a 
Calais boat. You know we are all frights when we first ar¬ 
rive. She’s not funny at all, poor dear. She’s tired out. Hurry, 
there’s Fraulein. They may come upstairs.” 

As Fraulein opened the door, the music ceased abruptly. 
There was the loud clang of a bell and then a noise as of a 
great deal of furniture being moved. 

“They are pushing back the desks. It’s study hour now. 
You’re excused from prayers to-night. Come with me, you 
must have a cup of tea, and then you can go at once to bed, 
poor Madchen. I see that you are tired, come with me.” 

Mehitable followed Fraulein across the hall, through a 
door at the far end, on into a huge room where long tables 
were already set for breakfast the next morning, plates neatly 
arranged along each side, and cups and saucers at each end. 
A maid was laying a cloth on a side table as they came in. 
She nodded smilingly at FrMein. 

The tea was weak and hot, and there was a plate of bread 
and butter with it. Mehitable was not hungry, but the hot 
drink was very welcome. She looked around the great room 
and thought of how many times she would see it in the future. 
“Sometime it will not be strange at all,” she thought. “None of 
this will seem strange, but oh, now it all—it all is so different.” 

She tried to forget the words of the girl on the stairs, the 
one who had said she was odd looking, but they came back to 
her again and again as she sat there drinking tea with Frau¬ 
lein. Suddenly she remembered Aunt Comfort’s letter, what 
she had said about her grandfather, how she must be brave 
as he had been. She was glad she thought of it just then, for it 


The Chateau D'Estes 


63 


suddenly gave her courage that she needed. She could even 
smile to herself a little over the ‘‘great-grandfather’s bag;” 
in reality it had belonged to her grandmother. 

No sound of music came now from the schoolroom, and 
when she and Fraulein came again into the hall, it was very 
quiet. She followed Fraulein up the wide velvet carpeted 
stairs. On the first landing Fraulein paused. 

“I think I should take you to see Madame to-night. She 
does not know that you have come,” she said. 

Mehitable would have rather waited until the next day, 
but Fraulein had already tapped on a door at the left of the 
stairway. A quick voice called, “Entrez.” 

Fraulein pushed open the door and they went inside. There 
was a thick red velvet curtain on the inside of the door and it 
swung heavily against them as they came in. The room was 
small and a bright coal fire burned in a tiny grate. A small 
black and tan terrier came running across the room towards 
them, barking with short staccato barks. 

Madame de Villiers was standing by her desk. She held 
some papers and a bunch of keys in her hands and, as they 
came in, put them down and walked toward them. She was 
tall and held herself very straight. She had white hair and 
piercing dark eyes. They looked Mehitable through and 
through. They seemed to see her oddly-made brown suit, her 
fatigue and bewilderment all in one glance. 

“Dear Madame, it 5s with joy that I see you again,” said 
Fraulein in French. “Here is Mademoiselle Webster, whom 
I have escorted from Calais.” 

Madame shook Fraulein’s hand and, turning to Mehitable, 
kissed her on both cheeks. 

“Welcome to this new home, enfante,” she said. “Now you 
are tired, you had better go at once to bed. Very soon I will 


64 


Mehifable 


send for you so that we may have a little talk. Fraulein will 
take you to your room. Let me see which it is.” 

She went to her desk, and opened a large black book. ‘It is 
number twenty-three on the second floor. Goodnight, then. 
I hope you will be very happy and very busy here.” 

They stood aside to let her pass out, for she was going 
down to prayers. Then they went up another winding stair¬ 
case. 

Mehitable said, as they reached the top, ‘T thought Madame 
said my room was on the second floor. This is the third.” 

“But no,” answered Fraulein, “this is the second; the one 
below was the first. It is so in France.” 

Mehitable smiled as they walked down a very long cor¬ 
ridor, stopping at last before a door marked with the number 
twenty-three. 

“They told me your roommate has not yet come,” said 
Fraulein, “so for to-night you will be alone.” 

A maid with a gas lighter was just leaving the room as they 
came in. 

“It is soon time for the young ladies to come upstairs to 
bed,” explained Fraulein. “Now,” she added, “is there any¬ 
thing that you want? No? You are so tired that you will 
sleep at once. Goodnight, then,” she patted Mehitable’s 
shoulder and went out, closing the door behind her. 

Mehitable stood for some minutes in the center of the room, 
looking about her. It was a fairly good sized room, with two 
beds in opposite corners, two chests of drawers, and two wash- 
stands. There was a small table near one of the windows, 
and two very straight looking chairs stood about. They were 
not comfortable chairs, Mehitable was sure. The room un¬ 
questionably was a sleeping room and nothing else. 

There were two pictures on the wall. One was of a stag at 


The Chateau D'Estes 


65 


bay. Mehitable turned her eyes away from it, the hopeless ter¬ 
ror in the eyes of the stag seemed so real. The other picture 
was that of a proud, lovely woman, a woman in a stiffly bro¬ 
caded dress, edged with dainty ruffles of lace. Her hair was 
dressed very high and a string of jewels ran through it. 

Mehitable went over and stood in front of the picture. She 
still wore her coat, but had taken off her hat and held it in her 
hands. As she stood there she heard the sound of many feet 
on carpeted stairs, and thought to herself that it was ‘^the 
young ladies going to bed,^’ as FrMein had said. A moment 
later there was a quick knock at her door and it was suddenly 
opened. A short, dark-faced woman came in hastily. She 
went up to Mehitable and kissed her on both cheeks as 
Madame had done. 

“You poor darling,” she said in a high-pitched voice. 

‘^ iT^hat a stupid time you must be having here all by your¬ 
self! Fm Madame Bourget, cherie, everyone’s friend. I 
came in to welcome you, but cannot stay a moment. ' It is my 
duty to see that they do not make noise in the hall. Listen!” 
as a burst of laughter sounded in the distance, “oh, they are 
epouvantable, those children.” 

She laughed as she spoke, and Mehitable laughed too. “It 
was so good of you to come and see me,” she said. “I was 
just a little lonely. She looked up at the picture on 
the wall above her. “Tell me, please, is it—is that a picture of 
Marie Antoinette?” 

“But yes, it is a picture of the poor queen. How clever of 
you to notice it right away. Now goodnight. Remember 
Madame Bourget is your friend,” she kissed her again on! 
both cheeks and was gone like a flash. 

Mehitable felt rather better after this flying visit. She had 
not quite so forlorn a sense that she was alone with all sorts 


66 


Mehitahle 


of mysterious and interesting things going on around her, 
things from which she seemed shut out. 

Just as she was about to put out her light, having unpacked 
her things for the night and undressed, there was a knock 
at the door and someone came in, a tall, very thin woman in 
black. She was very plain, quite ugly in fact, and she looked 
rather sharply at Mehitahle as she half closed the door. 

^‘Go to bed at once. Mademoiselle,” she said, “you will be 
chilled.” 

“I was just going to put out the light,” Mehitahle an¬ 
swered as she jumped in bed and drew the covers up around 
her. 

The newcomer, who was about to put out the gas, turned 
toward her. “You must never touch the lights. It is one of 
Madame’s strictest rules. Goodnight,” she added as she went 
toward the door. She paused a moment. “Madame says that 
because of fatigue from your journey you are to have your 
dejeuner in your room.” She spoke somehow as if she did 
not in the least approve of such indulgence, or that at any rate 
was the impression Mehitahle received from her words. 

At last she was alone. The room was very dark save where 
the moon made patches of light here and there. She had really 
arrived! She was in the Chateau d’Estes. She was very tired, 
but she could not sleep. She was thinking, thinking of so 
many things, and they all seemed jumbled together. She 
thought of the train journey with Miss Meadows, the hedges 
and English cottages, the fascinating tea basket, then the wild 
rough voyage across the channel. Fraulein—funny, placid 
Fraulein, who had no sense of humor, what a pity that was,— 
then the Chateau, Madame—how strange it all was,—the 
great silent house, old,—so old,—so filled with mystery,—so 
filled too with young life. Everywhere in the rooms around 


The Chateau D'Estes 


67 


her there were girls,—girls whom some day she would know. 

'Terhaps,’' she thought to herself, “someone, who will 
some day be my friend, a very dear friend, is sleeping quite 
near me now.” 

She got up suddenly and put on her big brown coat that lay 
over the foot of the bed. Then she went over to the window 
and sat down on the floor. She leaned her head on her arms 
on the window sill and looked out. 

The moon made the garden a thing of silver, except for the 
shadows. Everything seemed to stand out as etched in gray 
and white. There was something strange in the contrast of 
the dim school bedroom and the enchantment of the scene out¬ 
side. How dark the trees seemed in the shadows, how white 
the narrow garden paths that wound in and out. A fountain 
splashed lazily. Mehitable could see it plainly, the figure of a 
young girl holding a sheaf of something, lilies, she fancied. 
The water flowed down from them into the little pool at her 
feet. Far in the distance she could see clusters of flowers and 
shrubs. In the day time they would be dreams of color. There 
was mystery about the garden there in the quiet moonlight. 

Mehitable clasped her hands on the window sill and breathed 
in the beauty of it all. This was France! This was a French 
garden! She felt quiet and happy as she sat there by the win¬ 
dow, less lonely than at any time since she had arrived. The 
loveliness of the old garden had soothed her. How often that 
evening she had thought of Aunt Comfort’s letter! She had 
needed to think of it to remember very hard that she must 
“hold her own,” for it was all very strange to her, and yes, the 
remarks she had heard from the unseen occupants of the stairs 
had hurt her. She knew that that was foolish. Still the words 
rankled. 

Suddenly she heard a very soft sound; someone was trying 


68 


Mehitable 


the knob of her door. She sat quite still looking at the door 
and she saw it slowly open. A dark figure came in hastily, 
shut the door noiselessly and stood looking at her. 

“You’re the new girl, the American, aren’t you? I was 
sure you’d be awake. I didn’t close my eyes the first night 
that I was here.” 

She was standing in the shadow, but stepped forward as she 
spoke. “I’ll tell you why I came,” she added. “I thought you’d 
want to talk with someone and also I was so hungry. Have 
you any sweets ?” 

“Oh, I’m so glad you came,” exclaimed Mehitable. “Yes, 
I’ve a box of chocolates in my bag. Wait a minute, I’ll get 
them.” 

She went over to her bag, found the candy and as she 
turned back saw that her visitor had seated herself on the 
floor by the window. She sat in a patch of moonlight and Me¬ 
hitable was startled at her appearance. She had some sort of 
dark red garment that looked like an opera cloak over her 
nightgown, her hair was red, a very light red that shone as 
silver gold in the moonlight. She had a small elfish face, and 
even in the wan light Mehitable could see that her eyes were 
very dark. They smiled at Mehitable. 

“Come,” she said, “let us get acquainted. My name is Una 
O’Hara, and from my name you’ll know I’m Irish. I’ve been 
here at school for three years, except of course for the holi¬ 
days. I’ve a father and mother, six brothers and two sisters, 
and seven dogs, though two of them really belong to my 
brother, who’s stationed in India.” 

Mehitable got the two' pillows from the bed and the two 
sat on them in the moonlight. As long as she lived, Mehitable 
never forgot that half hour or so there in the night, when she 


The Chateau D'Estcs 69 

first met Una O’Hara. It was Una who did most of the 
talking. 

“Nobody wishes to talk of home just at the very first, I 
think,” she said to Mehitable. “After a time, I dare say, you’ll 
want to tell me all about your home in America, and I’ll like 
to hear.” 

“There are so many things that I want to hear about,” said 
Mehitable. “Oh, you can’t know how I’ve wanted someone 
to talk with ever since I came.” 

“Yes, I know, it’s always that way at first, and then you’ve 
come a few days after we’ve started, that’s always a bad plan. 
I hear that you came with Fraulein. She’s not a bad old 
thing, really. And you’ve met Madame ?” 

“Yes,” answered Mehitable, “yes, I saw her just for a mo¬ 
ment,” she paused and waited for Una to speak. 

She did so at once. “And you don’t really know what you 
think about her at all yet, do you ? Madame is deep, oh, very 
deep, you know. And her eyes, oh, her eyes, they seem to see 
everthing.” 

“Do you know,” said Mehitable, “it’s strange, but, some¬ 
way, coming at night and all, and not really seeing anything 
of the school, it all seems like a sort of dream. And this house! 
It’s so mysterious, it seems somehow to be whispering 
secrets.” 

Una O’Hara looked at her closely for a moment. “How odd 
that you feel it too,” she mused. “You’re different from the 
other Americans, someway. Yes, I know so well what you 
mean. It has known so much, it has suffered so' much in the 
very long ago days. My home is like that too. It has seen bit¬ 
ter times.” 

“Is it so very old ?” asked Mehitable. 


70 


Mehitable 


Una nodded. ‘It’s too old mother says. It’s where her an¬ 
cestors have lived for always. It’s so old that it seems very 
sad and tired somehow. And though the roofs are always and 
always being mended they leak. But the garden—oh, you 

should see it. The garden is-” she caught her breath with 

a sudden gasp. “The garden is divine,” she said. 

Somewhere a clock struck one. Una half rose. “All the 
ghosts in the Chateau are walking now. I’m almost afraid to 
leave you,” she said half laughingly. “It’s been great fun 
and the sweets were splendid. I’ve quite eaten them all. Good¬ 
bye, new girl. Do you know I like you ?” 

Before Mehitable could call her back, she had gone. She 
gave one last look at the silver garden and jumped into bed. 
Still she lay awake. She was oddly excited. It was like a 
dream too, the visit from the Irish girl. How lovely her voice 
had sounded. Each word so soft and clear. There had been no 
brogue at all, just the faintest, most charming music through 
her words. 

“I didn’t ask her about any of the girls,” thought Mehitable 
as she fell asleep. “I didn’t even ask her who Tip is, I was so 
very, very interested in just her herself.” 

She fell asleep and dreamed such a confused dream, of 
Miss Meadows mending the roof of a very old house in 
Ireland. 



CHAPTER IX 


THE FIRST DAY 

“Mehitable, come! We are going chestnutting. Robin will 
shake the trees for us.” The voice was real, but where was 
she ? Mehitable sat up in bed and looked about her. The pic¬ 
ture of Marie Antoinette smiled at her from above the cold¬ 
looking mantle. She was in France at the Chateau, but she 
had been dreaming of home. 

A knock sounded sharply at the door, and Mehitable called, 
‘‘Entrez,” as she had heard Madame do the night before, and 
felt as though she were really speaking French. The door 
opened and a short square figure entered the room. She wore 
a short black dress and white apron. Her face was small and 
square like the rest of her. What was it like? “Why, of 
course,” thought Mehitable, “it’s like the dolls that old Mr. 
Purdy used to have in his candy shop, the funny dolls with 
\he wooden faces and beady eyes.” 

The newcomer did not return Mehitable’s smile, but she 
said, “Prenez vous du the ou du cafe. Mademoiselle? Ou du 
chocolat ?” 

“Du chocolat,” answered Mehitable. 

“Bien,” answered the other, turning towards the door. She 
looked back over her shoulder. “Je m’appelle Julie,” she said 
as she shut the door. 

This last was lost on Mehitable. She lay pondering the 
words. “Julie is her name, perhaps that is it. What a funny 
little creature. I suppose she must be the nurse. It’s so inter- 

71 


72 Mehitable 

esting to watch her. Fm sure Fd forget all about being ill if 
she took care of me.’^ 

It was not long before Julie reappeared with a tray on which 
were a cup of cocoa and a plate with a roll and two very thin 
circles of butter. Mehitable sat up in bed and ate her break¬ 
fast slowly after Julie left her. She was disappointed in the 
cocoa. It was not at all what she had thought it would be. 
It was weak and gray and had an insipid taste, but she made 
the best of it and enjoyed the crisp brown rolls. They at least 
were like the rolls she had read about and because she loved to 
imagine she played that she was a great lady having her 
dejeuner in her boudoir. She had read of this in a French 
Revolution story she had found in the dingy little library at 
Cherryville. It was the first book to interest her in that 
strange, dreadful time so long ago. 

When she finished breakfast she went to the window and 
peered out through the curtain. The sun shone through rows 
of chestnut trees that sheltered each side of the broad avenue. 
There was a flash of color in the distance, pink and mauve and 
crimson asters. She glanced back at her bed. The face of her 
doll smiled at her from the pillows—what if anyone should 
see her! She ran across the room, took Madeline in her arms 
and lifting the lid of her trunk laid her down among some 
warm winter petticoats. For several moments she stood look¬ 
ing down at the contents of her trunk. Oh, if only there were 
something very dainty and stylish to put on! But there was 
not, just a plain, brown, house dress. She brushed her hair 
very carefully and tied it back with a new brown hair ribbon. 
When she was dressed, she stood irresolutely in the center of 
the room for a moment. Why did they not come for her? 
Did they not know of her eagerness to see this world outside 
of her bedroom door? She opened the door and looked out, 


The First Day 73 

A long, silent corridor, numbered doors on each side. At the 
far end of the hall there was a window of colored glass. The 
sun shone through it making prisms of light on the polished 
floor. Mehitable had never seen anything like it before. She 
went slowly along the corridor. Now and then a board creaked 
as she walked and she remembered how old the house was. 
She began to make a story about it and was brought suddenly 
back to earth by someone who came violently around the cor¬ 
ner of the stairway. They caught each other and in some way 
steadied each other so that neither of them fell down. The 
impetuous newcomer was so breathless with emotion that she 
could only gasp for a moment or two, then she muttered, “The 
mean old cat—not you, my dear. I mean Miss Derk.” 

“Who is she?’' asked Mehitable. 

“She’s everything that’s cold and calm and sarcastic. She’s 
the English mistress and she has just sent me out of class.” 
She listened a moment after she spoke. “It’s all right, I went 
around the garden way and through the petite salle a manger 
and upstairs. No one saw me.” 

She stood listening a moment longer, her head with its 
shock of short, straight hair on one side. As she spoke, Me¬ 
hitable realized that the voice was familiar. It was the girl 
who had spoken on the stairs the night before. 

“Are you Tip?” she asked. 

“Yes,” answered the other, looking at her keenly. “You’re 
the new girl, aren’t you? Where’s your room? Let’s go in, 
I can stay a few minutes and sort of get acquainted. Yes, I’m 
Tip,” she added, “how did you know?” 

They were walking now towards Mehitable’s room. There 
was a hint of mischief in Mehitable’s smile as she answered. 
“I thought your voice sounded familiar.” They had come in¬ 
side the room and closed the door and stood facing each other. 


74 


Mehitable 


Almost involuntarily Mehitable’s eyes turned towards the old 
brown valise that stood near the window. 

Tip’s tanned little face flushed scarlet. She had light col¬ 
ored eyes and very light eyebrows and a shock of brown hair. 
She wore a trim little blue tailored skirt and a frilly white 
blouse. 

“You—^you heard what I said last night on the stairs,” she 
stammered. Mehitable felt sorry for her at once and ashamed 
that she had made her uncomfortable. She laughed. “It is a 
funny bag; it was my grandmother’s and it’s lain up garret 
for years at home. I know it’s as old fashioned as can be.” 

Tip interrupted her. She had seated herself on the edge of 
the trunk. “It’s my miserable quick tongue. Clythie said you’d 
hear, but I didn’t believe her.” 

“Who is Clythie?” broke in Mehitable, anxious to change 
the subject. 

“Clythie is—oh, you’ll see for yourself soon. Clythie is 
beautiful, but that doesn’t describe her. Where is your home?’' 
added Tip. 

“Cherryville, Vermont.” 

“Cherr 3 rville—what a funny name!” Tip threw back her 
head and laughed. “I never heard of it,” she added. Mehit¬ 
able felt her cheeks burning. A great rush of love and long¬ 
ing came over her for the far-away Cherryville of which Tip 
had never heard. 

“There are lots of places I’ve never heard of,” put in Tip 
hastily. “I mean small home towns. My home has been just 
anywhere, hotels, trains and boats, mostly; Shepard’s Hotel 
in Cairo for a year, or the Riviera, or a bungalow in Santa 
Barbara, and last summer the Austrian Tyrol. Mother’s rest¬ 
less,” she added simply. 

Just then there came a rap on the door and like a flash Tip 


75 


The First Day 

disappeared under the frilled white flounce of the bed. Me- 
hitable stood facing the door as it opened and tried to keep 
her eyes away from the quivering flounce, as Madame Bourget 
came into the room. She was as jolly and smiling as the night 
before. 

“Tiens, Petite,” she said, kissing Mehitable on both cheeks 
in true French fashion. “All dressed and ready. You are not 
too tired then after your journey? Come, I will take you to 
the salle d’etude.” Mehitable followed her down the long cor¬ 
ridor and they went down the great winding stairway across 
the hall, through an anteroom to a large glass inclosed 
veranda. A group of girls sat about a table at one end and 
with them was the severe looking governess who had put out 
the light the night before. Madame Bourget explained to 
Mehitable that that was “le classe particulaire”—“For those 
who know no French,” she said. She opened the door as she 
spoke and for a moment Mehitable stood hesitating on the 
threshold of the schoolroom. It was a long room, so long that 
the late September sun streaming in the windows at the far 
end seem faint and dreamlike. 

It was only for a moment that they stood there on the 
threshold, but in after years she always remembered the first 
glimpse of the salle d’etude, the pale sunlight, the rows and 
rows of black walnut desks and the faces of the girls uplifted 
at the sound of the opening of the door. A woman at a desk 
on a raised platform near the door looked up at them. It was 
Mademoiselle Denton, the head mistress. Mehitable followed 
Madame Bourget far down the room to the last desk in the 
last row. 

“This is your desk, petite. You are in the class particulaire, 
as you know no French. The hour is just over now, but your 
teacher will come to you soon.” 


76 Mehitable 

She walked off quickly and Mehitable was left alone on the 
back row. She folded her hands on the desk and looked about 
her. So many girls! Was Una O'Hara in the room, she won¬ 
dered. If so, would she recognize her? She saw her in her 
mind, standing in her red cloak in the moonlight. How she 
wanted just a glimpse of her! Yes—no—yes, that was she, 
that was Una, she sat at a desk in the row next to the front. 
She turned her head and smiled at Mehitable over her shoul¬ 
der, more than that, she audaciously waved her hand. The head 
mistress at the desk had just missed seeing her. She raised 
her head a moment afterwards. 

It was all very exciting. Mehitable longed to be really in 
it all, in the midst of the work and play, not just a strange 
outsider. “Some day," she thought to herself, “I’ll be so sorry 
for the new girls." 

Just then a bell rang sharpiy. The girls pushed their books 
inside their desks and stood up. Doors at the side of the room 
opened hastily and more girls appeared from the various class¬ 
rooms. They gathered in groups, talking until a quick voice 
called, “Tout le monde pour le promenade." Just then some 
one came running up to Mehitable and caught her arm. It was 
Tip. 

“Come and walk with me on the promenade, three may 
' walk together. I’ve promised Jane Dascrow, but you may 
come too." 

She had taken Mehitable’s hand and they hurried through 
the veranda and up the stairs. Mehitable forgot her loneliness 
of a few moments before. She was going out to see Paris 
for the first time. Five minutes later they were walking down 
the gravel path that led to the green door in the wall. When 
they stepped out on the Boulevard Victor Hugo, Mehitable 
said to herself, ‘‘Now I’m in Paris." The school had seemed 


77 


The First Day 

a world of its own. Jane Dascrow, the other walking com¬ 
panion, was a thin, wiry, foreign-looking girl with black hair 
that fell in curls about her shoulders. She shrugged her shoul¬ 
ders as she talked. 

“Stupid people that practice stupid exercises. Oh, I could 
not do it for hours and hours at a time. No, no, when I play 
it is my joy. I work, yes, sometimes when I feel the thrill in 
my soul,” she remarked in French to Tip as they walked 
along the quiet avenue. 

Tip turned to Mehitable. “I may speak English with you 
just this once, but you’ll have to hurry and learn French 
right away for we all speak it all the time and there is al¬ 
ways a frightful row if we’re caught chatting in our own 
tongue. I cornered Madame herself this morning after class 
and she gave me permission to speak English on the prom, 
if I took a new girl with me—that’s one reason I asked you 
to walk with me,” she added frankly. 

Mehitable smiled at this as she looked with interest at 
Janey. “She doesn’t speak English,” explained Tip. “She is 
a Roumanian and she plays the piano! Well, wait until you 
hear her play. They say that she is a genius!” 

To Mehitable this was all very thrilling, to be walking with 
a genius and to be seeing Paris for the first time! 

They had come to the end of the avenue with its shady 
trees and stately houses and were passing an open cafe, where 
men and women sat at small green tables under striped awn¬ 
ings, eating and drinking busily, seeming quite unconscious of 
the people that passed so close to them. They went through 
the great gate, the same one Mehitable had driven through the 
night before, and soon found themselves on the Avenue du 
Bois. There was color everywhere. Old women selling 
bunches of purple and crimson asters, sunshine, the crisp 


78 


Mehitable 


sound of Horses’ Hoofs on tHe pavement as gay groups on 
horseback disappeared among the shadowy greenness of the 
Bois itself. The flash of motors, gray and blue and crimson, 
the long dimness of the great Boulevard, scent of late flowers 
and falling leaves, and everywhere children playing. Mehit¬ 
able was silent from sheer delight in it all, but Tip talked con¬ 
tinually. 

‘T’ve such a short time to speak English and must make the 
best of it,” she was saying. “I thought you would be asking 
me all sorts of questions and you are as silent as a mouse. 
What is it, I wonder. What makes you so quiet?” 

*Tt’s Paris,” answered Mehitable softly. She wanted to 
say much more. How she had dreamed of it all for so long 
over there in the dusky barn loft at Cherryville, but somehow 
she could not. Una would have understood, but matter-of-fact 
Tip would not. 

“It’s tiresome enough after you’ve walked this stupid ave¬ 
nue for weeks at a time,” Tip was saying. “We’re not al¬ 
lowed to buy as much as a post card or a biscuit. It’s tantaliz¬ 
ing. We’re always famished at this hour of the day.” 

Someone called sharply and they turned homeward. Me¬ 
hitable caught Tip’s hand as they entered the green door lead¬ 
ing to the Chateau. “I’m trying not to be afraid. Tip,” she 
said, “but there are so many girls. I’m glad I know you and 
thank you for the walk.” Tip reassured her as they walked 
around the corner of the house. 

“Oh, it will all seem an old story to you very soon,” she 
said reassuringly. “She’s a little homesick,” she added, turn¬ 
ing to Janey, who had been rather bored during the walk as 
Tip had talked so constantly in English to Mehitable. 

“You will soon speak the French,” she said kindly to 


79 


The First Day 

Mehitable, these being about all the English words she knew. 

“There are a number of Americans here. Clythie is one, 
and she is lovely—^there she is now,” and Tip called out, 
“Clythie!” 

They were at the back of the Chateau, and along one side 
of the garden there was a long brick building. Clythie stood t 
in its vine-covered doorway. Other girls were running in and 
out, calling back and forth to each other, but Qythie stood 
still in the sunshine. Her hair looked like bronze, her eyes 
were blue and smiling, she held a sheaf of autumn leaves in 
one hand and waved them at the girls as they approached. 

Tip made a low bow, spreading out her hands. “This is 
Mehitable Webster, and she comes from our illustrious coun¬ 
try. Miss Webster—Miss Grey.” 

Someone called Tip just then, and she ran inside, pulling 
off her jacket as she ran. Clythie smiled and held out here hand 
to Mehitable. 

“Tm glad you’ve come,” she said. “Where is your home?” 

“Cherryville, Vermont.” Mehitable felt suddenly shy and 
at a loss for words. It had been so easy to talk to Una. Why 
was it that she could think of nothing beyond this to say? 
Why did she become conscious of her brown skirt that was 
too long, conscious of the fact that she was a very plain, 
freckled little country girl? 

Tip reappeared in the doorway. “WeVe only five minutes 
to tidy up for lunch. Come, girls.” 

The three walked through the house and on up the wide 
stairway. Someone called to them from above. It was Una. 
Her soft silver red hair fell about her shoulders as she looked 
down at them. Clythie looked up at her as she turned at the 
top of the second flight to go to her room. 


80 


Mehitable 


seen Madame about the play. She says we may have 
one if we can only find the right thing,” Una called. “There 
must be a witch in the play we choose, for Tm perishing to 
be a witch,” she added. 

Una put her arm through Mehitable’s when they met at 
the top step and asked her to walk with her at recreation. So 
Mehitable had that to look forward to all the afternoon. At 
lunch she sat at a table at the other end of the room from Una 
and Tip, and next to a pretty, forlorn-looking newcomer, an 
American girl who had just arrived. Mehitable's heart ached 
for her, for she was so homesick that the tears dropped into 
her soup as she tried to eat it. 

“Fm new, too, and I know just how you feel,” Mehitable 
whispered to her. “They say we’ll feel quite all right after a 
^few days.” 

“Oh, I shall never be able to stay here. It is dreadful. 
Mutton for lunch, and that awful teacher glaring at us 
through the meal. Oh, New York, it’s the only place in the 
world. Theatres and bridge; luncheons and dances. This life 
will kill me!” 

Mehitable looked at her in astonishment. Looked at her 
pretty, rather stupid face, at her charming blue frock. Could 
it be true that anyone could find this wonderful new life any¬ 
thing but thrilling and interesting, no matter how homesick 
they might be? Gladys, this New York girl, might be un¬ 
interesting to most people, but she was quite a new type to 
Mehitable. New York, theatres, dancing—Gladys had known 
all this I At the end of the meal they had become quite well 
acquainted and Gladys, though in no way understanding 
Mehitable’s enthusiasm about the life they were to lead at the 
Chateau, began at least to have a faint interest in it. 


81 


The First Day 

There was no class for Mehitable that afternoon and she 
sat at her desk looking over her new neat copy books that 
Mademoiselle Gerauld, her teacher, had brought to her. They 
all had different colored covers, pink, blue, green and yellow. 
Mademoiselle Gerauld had explained to her that she had 
missed the morning class and that as her schedule had not yet 
been arranged she would have no class until the next day. 
She gave her quite a long list of French words to learn, with 
the English meanings written beside them. Mehitable was 
very eager to learn the language, enough to enter into things 
quickly with her schoolmates, so that she applied herself to the 
long row and decided that she had memorized most of them 
when the recreation bell rang. 

Una came running up to her almost at once after the bell 
rang. She wore a close fitting cloak of dark green and held a 
cape on her arm. “Come into' the garden,” she said, and they 
walked down the long schoolroom and stepped out of the open 
French window at the far end, into the garden. 

The incidents of that first day came back to Mehitable 
many times, but of them all the walk with Una in the garden 
stood out the most vividly, the long gravel paths wind¬ 
ing in and out, the beds of brilliant asters, the great old trees, 
and the sunlight flickering on the old stone wall that encircled 
the garden. There were sudden little groups of trees, dark 
retreats from the sun and color outside, girls everywhere, 
walking by twos or in groups, their voices echoing through 
the old garden. 

And Una! She walked lightly and gracefully, her hair 
falling about her shoulders. In the late September sun she 
looked less pale than the night before. There was a breath of 
tan on her cheeks and her small hands were hard and brown. 


82 


Mehitable 


Her voice was like threads of silk, Mehitable thought, or no, 
a strain of music, Celtic music. She was speaking of the 
garden. 

“It’s so small, it hedges one in so. It’s only a picture 
garden.” 

“To me it is very beautiful,” said Mehitable, “like the 
garden in a fairy story.” 

Una looked at her keenly. What an odd little figure she 
was, she thought, in her quaint, brown dress, so different from 
the other Americans. “And yet she understands. She’s dif¬ 
ferent that way too.” 

“You’ll see our garden some day, I hope. Oh, I’m not 
boasting,” she added quickly, her hand on Mehitable’s shoul¬ 
der. “Our garden is very shabby, really, I suppose. There is 
only old Daniels to see to it all alone, but it’s free, free! One 
can run and run and almost never reach the end, and, oh, the 
roses and the early springtime.” She paused. “I’ve only seen 
you twice, yet I talk to you of home. I never do to the others.” 

“Go on, go on, don’t stop.” 

“I must, it’s tea time. We’re famished, both of us.” She 
took Mehitable’s hand and ran with her around the corner of 
the house, through the veranda to the dining room. 

“We can sit anywhere at tea. Come here by me,” said Una, 
and they sat down at a table at the door where Clythie and 
Tip soon joined them. 

There was no governess at the table and a maid poured the 
tea. There was plenty of bread and a strange dark mixture in 
a glass dish which went by the name of “treacle.” “It’s really 
not bad. Try it,” urged Una, spreading some on her bread. 
“At the English school where by cousins go they have it only 
twice a week.” 

“Treacle,” muttered Tip, refusing the dish with a wave of 
her hand. “Treacle is an abomination.” 


The First Day 83 

Mehitable spread some on her bread and tasted it. '*Why, 
it^s like molasses/^ she said, ‘‘only not so good.’’ 

“Tip pretends to hate the Chateau,” explained Una, “but 
she loves it, really. When her mother offered to take her with 
her to Egypt this winter, she refused to go.” 

“Oh, the Chateau is second nature,” answered Tip. “I’m 
so used to it. Besides I like the fun of breaking rules.” 

Mehitable gazed at Tip. “You refused to go to Egypt?” 
she asked. 

“Goodness, yes. I’ve been there three times. Oh, the Cha¬ 
teau is not so bad if you know how to manage. By the way, 
Una,” Tip lowered her voice, leaning forward, as she spoke, 
“what about the midnight feast?” 

“Hush,” answered Una softly, “Mademoiselle Gerauld is 
at the next table, she might catch a word. Saturday night in 
the tapestry room.” Then she turned and looked at Mehitable. 
“It’s a feast we’re planning in the long Gallery. It will be 
very thrilling. It’s a great secret.” 

A bell rang and they rushed off to their different classes. 

At dinner that night Mehitable was too occupied in trying 
to cheer her homesick neighbor, Gladys, to realize that she 
herself was beginning to have some symptoms of that malady. 
It was not until prayers at nine-thirty when they were all 
assembled in the great salle d’etude that she felt a lump rising 
in her throat. So many, many people around her, all speaking 
a language she did not understand. The room vanished for 
a moment in a blur of tears. Madame came up to the desk 
on the platform and read a short passage in French from a 
Testament and said a prayer in French. It was the first 
time she had appeared that day. She was an imposing figure 
standing there in her black velvet gown. 

A girl called Jean, who seemed to be a friend of Clythie 
Grey’s, played the organ and they all sang an English hymn. 


84 


Mehitable 


It comforted Mehitable and all her life she loved it. After 
she was in bed and Mademoiselle had put out the light, she 
thought of it. “The day Thou gavest Lord, is ended.'^ She 
was too sleepy to lie awake. Her last thought was of what 
Una had said in the garden, “Some day I hope you will see 
our garden.” Una’s garden in Ireland! Could anything so 
wonderful ever be really true! Then she fell asleep. 


CHAPTER X 

PHILLIPPE 

Those first few days at the Chateau always seemed a con¬ 
fused dream to Mehitable, so many, many new faces and 
thoughts and thrills. The school work seemed all copy books 
at first. Grave looking Madame Gerauld showed her what to 
write at the top of each, les verbes, les dictees, la traduction, 
la grammaire^—Mehitable wanted to work hard, at least she 
thought she did. It was all so new and interesting. She had 
never been very much of a student at the Cherryville school, 
for she had dreamed so much, but here at the Chateau she 
felt that it would be quite different. She wanted most earn¬ 
estly to speak French and that, in itself, was an incentive for 
work. 

It was a mixture of discouragement and excitement. She 
and a few other homesick new girls struggled drearily over 
new sentences and words. Mademoiselle Gerauld was very 
serious and she could see nothing but tragedy in the deplorable 
ignorance of her young pupils. The humor and pathos of 
their efforts did not touch her. At the end of the third day, 
Mehitable's roommate had not arrived, and it was at night 
that she felt most lonely until she fell asleep. Tip had tiptoed 
in one night with a handful of peppermints and had stayed 
a few moments, talking in stifled whispers. 

“Mademoiselle Gerauld is prowling around, so I can only 
stay a second,’’ she had whispered. 

The brief visit had cheered her. Unfortunately, Una had 
had a sudden attack of neuralgia and had gone to the infirmary 

85 


86 


Mehitable 


for a day or so. Mehitable was wishing for her on the after¬ 
noon of the third day after her arrival. It was recreation 
hour. Tip was nowhere to be seen. She saw Clythie and her 
friend Jean start for a walk in the garden. They had smiled 
at her and spoken kindly, but they had not asked her to join 
them. She walked slowly down the corridor below the Long 
Gallery. The sunlight flickered through the latticed windows. 
She was alone. Everyone was outside in the sunlight. She 
took a letter from her pocket and read it for the fourth time. 
It had come that day and was from Barbara. Tears blurred 
her eyes for a moment as she re-read it. 

Barbara and she having supper on the north porch; Desire’s 
voice floating in from the kitchen singing, “Beautiful words, 
wonderful words of Life.” Oh! How far away it all seemed. 
Barbara’s letter had told of the first days after she had left; 
of how Patchwork had adopted her in Mehitable’s absence; 
of how Desire was already planning a Christmas box to send 
her. She had reached the end of the corridor and stood there 
uncertainly for a moment as she folded the letter and put it 
in her pocket. On one side was a door leading to the garden 
and on the other a door that led to the old part of the Chateau. 

“There are many rooms that we have never seen,” Una had 
said. “The oldest part of the Chateau is always locked. I’ve 
always thought I’d explore it some day, if I could,” she had 
added. 

“To explore the old Chateau.” Could anything be more 
entrancing I Mehitable turned the knob of the door and found 
that it yielded. Una had said that it was always locked, but 
it turned quite easily for Mehitable and almost before she 
knew it, she was on the other side of it. There was a dim, 
gray light everywhere. Twilight creeping through open doors 
on one side of the hall. She peered in at the first door she 


Phillippe 87 

came to. A huge, empty room met her gaze. She went inside 
and stood silently in the center of the room and looked about 
her. There were faded gray curtains at the windows, very 
old and tattered. Faint light crept in through them. There 
were no furnishings in the room, except two long gilt mirrors, 
one at each end. She saw her little brown figure reflected in 
one and it gave her quite a start. 

''No one goes to the old part,” Una had said. "As far as 
I know, no one has ever gone. It is almost always locked 
and anyway the girls are afraid of it.” 

"Afraid of what?” Mehitable had asked. 

"Oh, of the oldness of it all. Fm not afraid,” Una had 
added, "Fm used to old things.” 

Mehitable walked very slowly across the great room. She 
stopped at the far end and looked back, then she passed on 
to the apartment beyond. There were gilt mirrors here and a 
gleaming chandelier hung from the ceiling. It had evidently 
been carefully cleaned. No dust of the ages seemed to cling 
about it. 

"It is so beautiful,” thought Mehitable. "It holds so many 
secrets. The whole Chateau is full of secrets, it is wonderful.” 

Chairs stood against the walls, ghostly in the fading light. 
On the walls were pictures shrouded in white. There was a 
chill in the air here, something almost sinister. Mehitable 
passed on quickly to the room beyond. It was small and 
almost empty and it led on to a hallway. A flight of stairs 
faced the door and Mehitable began slowly to ascend them. 
She had forgotten the school, forgotten that she was break¬ 
ing rules. She was excited beyond words. She was doing 
what she had so often dreamed of doing wandering alone 
through an old, old castle. This old stairway was part of 
the dream. A room faced the top of the stairway. There was 


88 


Mehitable 


no door to It and one could see way across it as one came up 
the stairs. Mehitable hesitated a moment on the threshold, 
then went inside. There was an old spinnet in one corner 
and at the windows were long velvet curtains faded from 
dark red to faint rose. 

“It must have been a ballroom,” thought Mehitable. 
Strange things have happened here, things I can know nothing 
about.” She danced slowly about the room, humming a tune. 
She was a grande dame of a hundred years ago dancing 
with her cavalier! 

Suddenly she paused. Someone was singing! She crept 
near the open door at the other end of the room and listened. 
A young voice floated toward her from the room beyond. 
A boy’s soprano voice singing in English: 

Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing, 

'Onward, the sailors cry. 

Carry the lad thafs born to be king 
Over the sea to Skye. 

A bright fire burned in a wide fireplace in a far comer of 
the room. It was a liveable room with warm, velvet hang¬ 
ings at the long windows, and heavy carved chairs and tables 
scattered about. A piano stood near the window and lean¬ 
ing against it, his arms outstretched upon it, stood a boy. 
Just as Mehitable turned to go back, he looked up, stopped 
singing, and spoke quickly. 

“Who’s that?” he asked and even in her bewilderment, 
Mehitable felt surprised at his speaking English. 

She felt suddenly ashamed to have been discovered, to seem 
to be curiously looking in at someone’s room. It had all been 
so dreamlike and unreal, the empty rooms breathing secrets, 
the twisted stairway, the stories she was weaving about it 
,all, but this was different, this was someone’s own special 


Phillip pe 89 

room, and a strange boy was its owner. She had no real 
right there. 

The boy crossed the room. He wore a riding suit of rough 
tweeds, and carried a whip and cap in his hand. He threw 
them on a chair as he came up to Mehitable. 

“But come in, won’t you Mademoiselle?” he said. “Now 
that you are here, why not come a little farther?” 

“I’m—it’s so wrong of me—I’m breaking the rules, but I 
so wanted to see what was on the other side of the door.” 

The boy threw back his head and laughed. “I too,” he 
said, “have also wanted to see what was on the other side of 
the door. Your side I mean, you’re one of my grand¬ 
mother’s pupils aren’t you?” He pushed a chair forward, 
“Won’t you sit down?” he asked with a bow. 

Mehitable could see that he was laughing at her, but she 
was too interested now to care. She sat down on the chair 
he offered her and looked rather timidly about. Suddenly 
an awful thought came to her. What if Madame should sud¬ 
denly appear? As though he understood her fear, the boy 
said hastily. “My grandmother is in Paris, and my tutor is 
lying down with a toothache. I’m no end sorry for him, 
but it means I won’t have to dig away at geometry for an 
hour or so.” 

Mehitable had taken a quick glance around the room as 
he spoke. There were many pictures on the wall and one of 
a man with piercing dark eyes like Madame’s, faced her. 
She glanced from it to the boy. How alike the eyes were of 
all three of them! He sat on the edge of the table and looked 
at her smilingly. 

“Well,” he said, “you have a good deal of courage, haven’t 
you ?” 

“I don’t know,” answered Mehitable. “I hadn’t thought of 


90 Mehitable 

it that way. I—Fve had such a gcrod time—it’s all so won¬ 
derful to me.” 

“What is wonderful?” asked the boy. 

“Being over here—the castle, the girls, the newness of it 
all—Fve only just come.” 

Before she knew it, Mehitable found herself telling the 
strange boy about Cherryville, Barbara, Robin and Johnnie. 
She never could quite make out afterward how she had had 
the courage to do it, but he had asked her a number of ques¬ 
tions and out of her loneliness she had told him of the dear 
friends at home, of the hollow in the wood where they made 
the picnic fires, of the hill and the school and the woods. He 
had seemed so interested. 

“Fd like to know Robin,” he said, “They all seem a jolly 
lot and what good times you’ve had.” He spoke rather wist¬ 
fully and added, “Fm going to have quite a different life 
from this some day, I can tell you that. Fm going to be free 
some day,” he added restlessly. 

He got down from the table and walked over to the fire. 
A dog lying on a rug in front of it, stood up and came close 
to him. He put his hand on the dog’s head and stood silent for 
some minutes. 

Mehitable sat watching him rather timidly. He was a boy 
of perhaps fourteen. He had very fair hair but his eyes were 
like the eyes in the picture before her. Suddenly he turned 
toward her, smiling, his very engaging smile. 

“You know, it’s rather nice that you came to-day, I was 
feeling—well a bit lonely. One does now and then. I want 
to be in school, you know, doing things with other boys. Oh, 
Fm so tired of being here.” 

Mehitable wanted to ask him why he was there and why 
he could not go to school, but something held her back. 


Phillip pe 91 

‘‘My name’s Phillippe. What’s yours?” he asked. 

Phillippe. What a pretty name. How Mehitable hated to 
tell him hers! He said it over gravely after her. 

“Meheetible, what an odd name—what a pretty one,” he 
said. 

She gazed at him in astonishment. He was quite serious. 
Pie meant it, and the way he had pronounced it had somehow 
taken all the ugliness out of it. They looked at each other 
and smiled and Mehitable said impulsively. 

“This is a great adventure for me. You see I’m quite new 
at the Castle. I’m so new anyway, I’ve never been any¬ 
where, just Cherryville always, and I’ve dreamed and dreamed 
of doing things like this. Do you know, I think I feel dif¬ 
ferently about the Chateau. I mean the other girls cannot 
feel the same. Even Una has always known old things, she 
is used to them, but for me it is all so strange and wonderful.” 

“None of the others seem to care about anything, but that 
stuffy little garden. Oh, I’ve seen them from the tower win¬ 
dow.” 

“Do you live here all the time?” Mehitable ventured to 
ask. 

The boy was silent for a moment, and she regretted having 
spoken. 

Phillippe looked at Mehitable for a moment and then said 
slowly, “My grandmother does not want people to know I 
am here. I do not know why. It is all a mystery tO' me, but 
it is in some way connected with my father,” he glanced at 
the picture on the wall as he spoke. 

“And your mother?” Mehitable’s question was born of 
an interest so deep that she spoke before she thought. 

Phillippe turned his head away and looked in the fire for 
an instant, then said in a low voice, “Mother is in England, 


92 Mehifable 

that is why I’m here with grandmother. Mother is English,” 
he added. 

He came back to the table and sat on the edge, his hands 
clasped about his knees. He was smiling, though there was 
a wistful look in his eyes. ‘‘How I want my horse. Quiver. I 
think of him every day. I want to ride and ride and ride, 
not just these stupid canters in the Bois, but miles and miles 
across country, over the moors. Have you ever seen a moor ?” 

Mehitable shook her head. “No, but I shall some day.” 
Anything seemed possible to her just then. Her heart beat 
high with the joy of adventure. A clock struck somewhere 
and she stood up suddenly. “Oh, it is late I know, and I’m 
here so far from school. It’s been such a happy time.” She 
held out her hand rather shyly to say goodbye. 

Phillippe jumped down off the table and walked toward 
the door with her. “I’ll see you back as far as the door,” he 
said. “What if it should be locked now?” he added mis¬ 
chievously, as they walked slowly down the stairs and through 
the great silent rooms below. 

Mehitable smiled a little ruefully. “It would mean trouble 
for me, but anyway I should have had my adventure,” she 
said. 

“You need not worry,” Phillippe reassured her. “I know 
a secret way and if the door is locked I’ll let you know it too.” 

This last mysterious remark so interested Mehitable that 
she was almost disappointed to find the door moved easily 
when Phillippe tried it. A mop and pail stood near the door. 
Evidently the cleaning woman had spent a long time at her 
tea in the servants’ room downstairs. Phillippe stood with 
his hand on the door and looked at Mehitable. 

“Won’t you come again?” he asked. “I’m so lonely. 
Grandmother’s kind but she’s away so much. Biggs is a good 


Phillippe 93 

chap but he’s so old. If you’ll come again Fll tell you a great 
deal about the old part of the Chateau, and I’ll show you 
things,” he added mysteriously. 

Mehitable clasped her hands together in her earnest way, 
when especially excited. '‘Oh, may I come again? Will you 
tell me about the Chateau? You see I’m thinking stories of 
it all the time. I shall love to come, but it’s breaking rules,” 
she added. 

“Never mind, it cannot harm anyone and no one need 
know. The woman cleans the old part on Thursdays and the 
door will probably be unlocked. Do come as soon as you can. 
Oh, I’ll have so many things to show you.” 

Mehitable nodded but did not speak for she thought she 
heard a sound. She stepped outside and Phillippe closed the 
door softly behind her. She ran swiftly down the long dusky 
corridor, up the marble steps and through the glass veranda. 
The last class of the day was just over and she followed a 
stream of girls up the stairs. Una caught up with her and 
they went on to the third floor arm in arm. Una’s neuralgia 
was better and Mehitable was glad to see her back, but she 
was so engrossed in thinking of her recent adventure that she 
scarcely heard all that she said. She longed to tell her about 
it, but it was a secret between herself and Phillippe. He had 
said that his grandmother had not wished his living there 
to be known, for what reason neither of them knew, so she 
must keep silent about it. After all it was very thrilling to 
have such a secret all to one’s self, however lonely she might 
be. Whatever happened, she had had a most charming 
adventure. 

“You’re to be invited to the midnight feast on Saturday 
night,” whispered Una as she left Mehitable at her door. 
This was news indeed and Mehitable felt grateful to Una. 


94 


Mehitable 


*'SHe asked Clythie if I might come,” she thought as she 
changed her dress for dinner. Already Mehitable saw who 
was the leader at the Chateau. Everything must be approved 
by Clythie. After dinner Una came up to Mehitable and 
asked her to walk in the Long Gallery. The girls were al¬ 
lowed to walk there for a half hour in the evening before 
study hour. It was moonlight and the garden outside the 
latticed corridor windows was nearly as bright as day. 

Mehitable and Una were not alone. A very quaint little 
figure walked with them. Mehitable had noticed her several 
times. She was a little Japanese who looked odd and bewitch¬ 
ing in her dark embroidered kimona. Her name was Chiona. 

It was her second year at the Chateau and she was a great 
friend of Clythie, Una, and their particular crowd, that is, 
she was with them a great deal and was growing used to their 
ways and conversation, but Mehitable felt at once that they 
all seemed very strange to- her. 

“Fm sure she is thinking all the time how very different it 
is from Japan and yet she knows we could never understand 
no matter how much she should try to tell us,” thought 
Mehitable as the three paced the ghostly corridor together. 
“Some day I mean to ask her about her other life at home.” 

Chiona was going to the midnight feast. It was to be a 
very much more daring feat than they had yet attempted 
and there was a great deal of suppressed excitement in the 
air. Una was full of the subject. “The feast is to be upstairs 
3^ou know, in the Long Gallery. The Slowburns are coming. ^ 
You see they live nearby or rather their mother has taken 
a house here in Neuilly, and so they are going to make sand¬ 
wiches for us. It^s so dreadfully hard to get in food here, but 
Tip has promised to buy olives and sardines when she goes 
to the matinee with her mother’s friend, Saturday afternoon. 


Phillippe 95' 

and you and 1” she added turning to Mehitable, ‘'must man¬ 
age somehow to buy a cake when we go into Paris Saturday. 
You’ll go, won’t you, Mehitable?” she asked. “We’re allowed 
to go, three of us with a governess, Saturday afternoons. 
We’ll do a museum and then have tea. It will be so exciting, 
buying the cake, and very difficult to manage,” she added. 

Indeed Mehitable would go. Paris! She lay awake for 
a half hour that night going over in her mind the exciting 
events of the day, the old rooms, the gray satin-covered chairs, 
so stiff and old, standing against the wall, the lilt of the 
Scotch song that Phillippe had sung, Phillippe himself, his 
promise to show her the old secrets that he knew about, the 
wonders of this strange, whispering old castle. 


CHAPTER XI 

THE CONCIERGERIE—AND A CAKE 

Mehitable’s class in English Literature was the first class 
in the morning. It was quite different from the French 
classes and very much more interesting, partly because they 
were beginning to study all sorts of wonderful poems; mostly 
because of that, but also because of the English mistress. To 
Mehitable she was a study; she had begun to wonder about 
her at the first lesson and on Saturday morning, the day of 
the half holiday, was still wondering. The teacher’s name 
was Miss Derk. She was quite young and had a plain dark 
face. She never smiled and Mehitable wondered if she ever 
could. ‘‘Her face is so still,” she thought. “It is so cold and 
quiet, it is almost cruel.” Miss Derk had a very low quiet 
voice, her French was poor but she was allowed to speak 
English to her pupils in her classes, and her voice was very 
quick and crisp in spite of its softness. 

Gladys sat next to Mehitable. She was still very homesick 
and clung to her as an anchor in a strange and lonely sea. 
There were many older girls in the class for it was more or 
less an extra study at the Chateau; Gythie was there, and 
her friend Jean, and the Japanese girl Chiona, and the Slow- 
burn twins, the two girls who were to furnish the sandwiches 
for the party. Even Tip was there and seemed for her, 
rather subdued. Mehitable sat with her hands folded on the 
table in front of her, listening. Miss Derk spoke well, she 
was telling them about the child life of Byron, of its pathos 
and loneliness; she told of the great old abbey where he had 

96 




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A SIDE STREET IN PARIS 
































97 


The Conciergerie—and a Cake 

spent his childhood; of his lameness and his sorrow that he 
could not do all that the boys did. She spoke in a cold, im¬ 
personal way, but instinct told Mehitable that it was because 
of her audience. ^‘She thinks we do not care,” she thought, 
‘^she thinks we cannot understand.” 

Clythie was scribbling a list of things she wanted to buy 
at the Gallerie Lafayette, on the back of her copy book. Tip 
was raising first one eyebrow and then the other in rather 
a comic way she had of doing. Gladys was as always, frankly 
bored. Una was smiling at Tip, but Una did not like Miss 
Derk, Mehitable remembered. She had said so. “Derk is 
a cross patch,” she had remarked carelessly. ‘‘She’s as cheer¬ 
ful as a tomb and as cordial as a glass of ice water. Clythie 
and I had her in English history, last year.” 

Mehitable was thinking of the class and of Miss Derk, as 
she, Una and Jean were journeying into Paris that after¬ 
noon. Fraulein was with them. They were in a very jolting 
horse cab and at every corner Fraulein was sure they would 
be run over. She would clutch the arm of Jean Macy who sat 
next to her, and peer nervously out of the window as motors 
whirled by them. Madame would not allow her pupils to ride 
in the Metropole, the underground, as there had been an acci¬ 
dent there once, and so their progress into Paris was slow. 
They drove along some drab looking side streets to avoid 
the worst of the traffic and it grew monotonous, after a time. 
Mehitable’s thoughts wandered to the English class of the 
morning; she had been very happy there and a deep sense of 
gratitude had come over her. One of her dreams was coming 
true, she was having lessons in Literature from a fine teacher. 
She felt sure that Miss Derk was that, and looked forward 
to the history class on Monday morning. Mehitable found 
the French classes rather a trial, her interest in French verbs 


98 


Mehitable 


had vanished as quickly as it came, for it was drudgery trying 
to learn the first simple rules in “le classe particulaire/' But 
the English that she could understand, the poets that she 
loved, this was different. There was so much she longed to 
know, so much she felt sure that Miss Derk could tell her. 

The cab drove up in front of a huge gloomy Jooking 
building, and after they had stood for a moment looking at 
it in a rather awed silence, they went inside It was so gray, 
so still, that the October sunlight outside seemed far away. 
A grim, talkative old man in a dark uniform, took them about. 
Mehitable wished he would be still now and then, and let them 
wander about in peace. She wanted to think and imagine 
things. 

‘Tt is whispering terrible secrets,” she remarked to Una 
as they stood together looking in at the barred door of a long 
unused cell. ‘‘Think of it. This is where they were, hundreds 
of them brought here from beautiful homes and kept here 
until they were beheaded, girls like you and me,” she added. 

Una shuddered, “Hush, Mehitable,” she entreated, “you 
make it all seem so real, so near, and it was really so long 
ago. Oh, it must have been a wonderful time after all. 
Think of saving someone’s life, someone that you loved. 
Think of the escapes, the sacrifices.” 

They were following the guide down a very long, dark 
passage, and he paused suddenly before a low door in the 
stone wall, and waved his hand dramatically. 

“It is here,” he said, speaking in broken English, “It is 
here that the Queen Marie Antoinette made her bow to the 
people.” 

They stood in silence for some minutes looking at the low 
doorway through which the proud queen had been obliged 
to pass on her way to the cell which she never left until she 


99 


The Conciergerie—and a Cake 

went to the guIUotine. She who had said she would never 
bow her head to the people, had had to bow her head in order 
to pass under the low door. *^Oh, the dreams and the friends 
and the happiness that she left behind her,” thought Mehitable, 
‘*the loneliness of it all.” Fraulein looked at her sharply. 
She herself was bored and tired and longing for a cup of tea. 
The Conciergerie was an old story to her. 

‘‘You are pale, Meehiteeble,” she exclaimed. ‘‘This is no 
place for the jenne fille, it is too gloomy. Come, we will now 
go for tea.” 

The aged guide seemed offended that they were not going 
on through the rest of the old prison, and as a last bit of 
information, informed them that long before it had become 
a prison, it had been a very gay place, “le palais de la Cite,” 
and in 1369 had been changed into a prison. 

“How could anyone have ever been happy there,” ex¬ 
claimed Una, as they came out into the sunshine, glad to 
breathe in the fresh soft air, to see the gay flower stand on 
the street corner, and to know that a jolly little tea awaited 
them at Neal’s on the rue de Rivoli. 

“Yes,” answered Mehitable. “It’s the strangest thing to 
think that there was dancing there years ago, brocaded 
dresses and jewels and courtiers and love affairs.” 

Jean Macey laughed and glanced with some interest at 
Mehitable. “What an odd little thing she is to be sure,” 
she thought, “and yet, how well she says things.” She put her 
arm through Mehitable’s as they crossed the crowded street. 
She was a gentle, charming-looking girl, not as pretty as 
Qythie, but with something in her face and eyes that Clythie 
lacked. Mehitable was very happy as they sat at a little table 
near the window in the English tea room above a bookshop 
on the rue de Rivoli, one of the few tea places where Madame 


100 


Mehitable 


de Villiers would allow her pupils to go. It was only a small, 
quiet room, and there was generally a good deal of grumbling 
amongst the girls who longed for a glimpse of some of the 
very fashionable French places, but the toasted tea cakes at 
Neal’s were very good and one could catch a glimpse of the 
tumultuous many colored street below, the most restless, ex¬ 
travagant, changeful street in the world. They had tea out of 
two fat little earthenwear teapots, and, with the tea, they had 
an eclair each,—a French eclair, so different from those of 
any other land, and a toasted tea cake. They could have eaten 
a great many, but it was against Madame’s orders and Frau- 
lein, in spite of her good nature, was always firm about en¬ 
forcing Madame’s rules. She could have eaten any number 
herself, but that would never do of course. They were quite 
a time over their tea and when they stood up to go, Una took 
Mehitable’s arm. 

‘T must manage somehow to buy the cake. It’s going to 
be a risk, but that’s half the fun. You and Jean must try 
to keep FrMein interested in something for a few minutes.” 

As she whispered this last instruction, she vanished in the 
crowd and Mehitable turned to Fraulein, who was counting 
her change, having just paid the waitress. ‘‘Look, Fraulein,” 
she said. “What is that?” 

She nodded toward a table near them where sat a stout 
lady and three stout, red-cheeked girls. A waitress had just 
put a huge cake down in front of one of them and she was 
beginning to cut it in large slices, while her table companions 
looked admiringly on. It was a very wonderful work of art 
and had evidently been made to order; it was topped with 
whipped cream and red cherries and had a most festive appear¬ 
ance. Fraulein looked at it almost sentimentally. 

“It is a Geburtstag Kiiche (birthday cake),” she said. “It 


101 


The Concicrgerie—and a Cake 

is a German recipe, of that I am sure. Ah, yes, it makes me 
think of many happy days gone by.’’ She shook her head 
sadly and then turned around suddenly. “Come, come, we 
must be getting home, I am afraid of the dark evenings; we 
must have the man at the door call a cab.” 

She glanced toward the counter where Una was standing, 
waiting for the precious mocha cake which the girl was put¬ 
ting in a paste-board box for her. A boy stood near her, a 
boy with very fair hair. He wore a gray coat and held his 
tweed cap in his hand. Mehitable recognized him at once. 
It was Phillippe. He was watching them and seemed to take 
in the situation at a glance for just as Fraulein turned toward 
Una and the girl handed the box across the counter, he took 
it from her; also the change which she handed with it. It 
was all done in the twinkling of an eye, and as Fraulein, 
seeing him take the cake, turned away, calling sharply to Una 
to follow them, he slipped the box and money into Una's 
hand and received her grateful thanks. “Oh, it was so good 
of you,” she exclaimed, “you've saved the day. It's for a 
midnight feast,” she explained in an excited whisper, as they 
made their way through the crowd. “Yes, I know,” he whis¬ 
pered back, just then catching Mehitable's eye and smiling. 

He had recognized them all, though only Mehitable knew 
who he was. It gave her an odd thrill as Una told her of the 
episode in excited whispers as they jolted home in the cab, 
and Fraulein was deep in an account of her last attack of 
rheumatism to Jean. 

They managed to conceal the cake from Fraulein's eyes and 
breathed a sigh of relief when they had it safely hidden in its 
box under the pillow of Una's bed. She and Jean talked a 
great deal about the strange boy who had so cleverly come 
to their rescue, wondering who he might be, but never a 


102 


Mehitable 


word said Mehitable. She had longed to tell Una of her ad¬ 
venture in the old part of the Chateau, but Phillippe had 
spoken as though his being there was a secret and she had not 
felt that it was right for her to tell. She opened the door of 
her room in great haste for they had only a very few moments 
to get ready for dinner, closed the door after her, and stood 
looking in astonishment at a small figure who sat rather de¬ 
jectedly on the edge of the far bed, a girl with sandy hair and 
spectacles, who sat with her hands clasped about her knees 
and fairly glared at Mehitable as she bounced into the room. 

"‘Are you my roommate?’^ she inquired with a broad Scotch 
accent. 

Mehitable nodded, ‘‘Yes, Fm so glad you’ve come, I’ve 
^been pretty lonely without a roommate.” 

“Well I hope you’re tidy” the other answered. “If there’s 
anything I can’t abide, it’s untidiness and flightiness, it fashes 
me a good bit.” 

The bell rang as she spoke and Mehitable had only time to 
smooth her hair. The two went out of the room together and 
down the stairs. The new roommate, in a few words, had 
showed herself to be an independent character. She had had 
a very rough voyage across from Scotland, she told Mehitable, 
but she rather enjoyed it, as she was never seasick. She did 
not expect to enjoy herself at all at the Chateau; it wasn’t 
what she was there for; she was sure she would not like the 
girls; she never had liked girls and was equally sure they 
would not like her and it was to her a matter of the most com¬ 
plete indifference whether they did or not. 

By this time they were at the dining room door, and as 
most new girls were put at Madame’s table, Nancy found 
herself next to Mehitable, on the other side of whom was 
Gladys. At a far table Una and Clythie and Jean were talk- 


103 


The Conciergerie—and a Cake 

ing in low excited tones, at the same time trying to appear 
as calm as possible. As a matter of fact they were keyed up 
to a high pitch of excitement. Never before had anything 
so daring as a feast in the Long Gallery been planned. If 
they were caught, the consequences would indeed be serious; 
all of them were a little frightened except perhaps Una, whose 
Irish love of risk and danger was far greater than her prud¬ 
ence. Mehitable had always wanted to go to a midnight feast. 
She had read about them and now she was actually going to 
one. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined anything 
like the Long Gallery or anything as daring as a midnight 
revel there. 

Her new roommate^s name was Nancy Graeme, and in 
spite of her outspoken brusque manner, Mehitable liked her 
at once. In the first place she was Scotch, more Scotch th .n 
anything Mehitable could even imagine. Her very burr was 
fascinating. What matter if she squinted and had red hair. 
She had the background of all Scotland behind her. Mehitable 
wanted to ply her with questions, but was shy about doing 
so. However, the newcomer was quite outspoken and made 
no secret of her affairs. 

‘‘We’re plain folks, Presbyterians all of us, prayers twice a 
day. There’s but my twO' aunts and my grandfather and me 
and we live a good bit out in the country. We don’t see anyone 
but the minister from one week’s end to the other.” 

Gladys gasped at this, and Nancy turned and looked at her 
as though seeing her for the first time. 

“Don’t you die with loneliness?” queried Gladys. “How 
can you live without any fun? This place is bad enough with 
nowhere to go and nothing to do, but to be alone in the 
country with aunts and seeing only the minister!” 

Gladys regarded her with undisguised compassion. Nancy 


104 


Mehitable 


I 


returned her gaze calmly and disapprovingly. ‘‘Well, now 
what’s fashing you, Miss America ?” she asked; Glady’s accent 
being unmistakable. “Suppose I like the old aunts and the 
minister and suppose I’ve other things to think of besides 
flitting my time away on foolish what-nots?” ( 

“Gladys has always lived in a city,” put in Mehitable sooth¬ 
ingly. “In New York, and she’s done all sorts of things we 
haven’t been allowed to do,—theatres and lunch parties,” she 
added. 

Gladys looked at her gratefully. Mehitable was her only 
friend so far and she was beginning to appreciate her. 

“Is that SO'!” exclaimed Nancy with some sharpness. “Well, 
if she lived on oat cakes and porridge and tea for a while 
and learned to respect the old and the clergy, it would do her 
no end of good, I’m sure.” 

There was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke, and Mehitable 
made up her mind that she had a sense of humor after all. 
Gladys grumbled over the mutton and cauliflower and told 
Mehitable about a wonderful ice cream she had just before 
coming away—pistache, marrons, and whipped cream on top. 
This made Mehitable think of the birthday cake in the tea 
room and of Phillippe’s timely help about the mocha cake. 
The midnight feast: it would mean that she must leave Nancy 
on her first night at school; to be sure, Nancy was a very 
independent young lady and would at least pretend not to care, 
but it seemed selfish. Gladys too, how truly miserable she 
was. Why could she not go too? Would she dare to ask 
Clythie if they might go? She knew that it was only through 
Una that she herself had been invited. 

After dinner she stood alone for a moment in the glass 
veranda until she saw Clythie, Jean and Una come slowly 
out of the dining room, then she went up to them. Her 


105 


The Canciergerie—end a Cake 

cheeks bemed snd she stammered slightly as she speke to 
Qythiie who smiled kin-dlv at her. }^lehitable looked up at her 
bravely: it was foolish of course to be timid, but somehow 
she cculd not help it 

they promise to be careful could my new roommate, 
Xancy Grsme. and Gladys Chester come too? She's very 
hc-mesick.” 

“Heaven forbid,” exclaimed Qythie, raising her eyebrows, 
‘*We don’t want two green, timid girls on our hands, this is a 
great risk any way.” 

‘’Oh, two more won't make any dinerence. Let them come 
if they want to.” said hospitable Una, and ?>lehitable gave her 
a grateful look. Gythie frowned. "We can’t run the risk 
of their ’olurting cut about it. As one of them is your room¬ 
mate.” she said looking at ilehitable, ‘ht will be difncult to 
keep her from knowing. Its very unfortunate—but yes, if 
you can make then understand they must be absc-Iutely silent 
and do just as we tell them, thev mav come. It seems unavcid- 
able about your roommate, but that fat Gladys is sure to do 
something stupid.” 

“She isn’t so srupid, really,” ?ylehitable answered, rather 
more b»:Iily than usual. suddei thought came to her about 
Xancy who had cc^nfided to her in a softened moment at din¬ 
ner that she had seme short bread. “Xancy bias a box of short 
bread.” said she, “perhaps shell bring it to the feast.” This 
was greeted with enthusiasm by all but Gythie, for Scotch 

short ’oread was a delicacy greatly appreciated by all Chateau 

• ♦ 

gOTi.^- 

As a matter of fact, Gythie was greatly worried. Twice 
she had come to Una during the day and suggested giving up 
the plan. I: was. she said, “a wild one that might easily end 
in disaster.” But this cniy increased Una's delight in the 



106 Mehitable 

whale daring of the enterprise and she had laughed at Clythie's 
fears. 

“Ah, you’re nervous, macushla,” she said reassuringly. “It 
will be a rare bit of fun and the fairies will watch over us.” 

Clythie had shrugged her shoulders at this last, but had 
given in. The evening passed away somehow and they all 
went quietly to their rooms as usual. 


i 


CHAPTER XII 

THE MIDNIGHT FEAST 

ready at the end of the landing when the cuckoo clock 
strikes twelve/' Una had said. 

“When the cuckoo clock strikes twelve"—how thrilling it 
was. Mehitable shut the door of her room and stood with 
her back against it for a moment too excited almost to speak. 

“Oh, Nancy," she exclaimed breathlessly to that young per¬ 
son, who in a magenta colored dressing gown, was combing 
out her sandy locks. “You're invited to the midnight feast 
to-night. Oh, I’m so glad. You’ll come, won’t you?” Some¬ 
how the possibility of anyone refusing so tempting an invita¬ 
tion had not occured to her. “It's to be in the Long Gallery, 
but of course you don't know about that, do you? It's to be 
the greatest fun." Mehitable paused and looked rather anxi¬ 
ously at Nancy, who went on very calmly with her hair 
brushing. 

“Now, what nonsense is this? Who wants to gallavant 
around this cold spooky old place in the middle of the night? 
I’ve had a good, sensible dinner, and I'm going to bed." She 
turned and looked rather severely at Mehitable. “I've come 
here to learn to speak French and teach it. If you can fritter 
away your time and get into a scrape the first thing, do so.” 

Mehitable felt very guilty for a moment. She too was at 
the Chateau to make the best of every hour. For a second the 
face of Aunt Comfort rose before her, but the next second 
she smiled and came close to Nancy, and it was a very naughty 
Mehitable who spoke. 


107 


108 


Mehi fable 


‘‘You’re afraid.” 

Nancy glared at her for a moment, and then said simply, 
“I’m not afraid and I’ll go.” 

Mehitable put her arm on Nancy’s shoulder. “I’m ashamed 
to have said that,” she said. “Of course your not afraid. It’s 
only that I wanted you to go so much. I asked Clythie if you 
could.” 

Nancy softened somewhat. “That was good of you,” she 
said, and from then on entered into the experience with the 
same energy with which those who came to know her at the 
Chateau were to find she did everything. 

Mehitable felt rather guilty at having urged her tO' go, but 
as far as that went, all the midnight feasters were feeling a 
little uneasy as the hour approached. Gladys came into their 
room soon after the lights were out. She was grateful to 
Mehitable for the invitation, but was very pessimistic about 
the whole affair. The girls had put on night gowns over their 
dresses, and at a quarter of twelve they replaced them with 
warm coats, for in spite of warm house dresses they knew that 
the night chill of the Castle would be very great. Just before 
twelve they went out, the three of them, into the hall. Una 
was waiting outside the door. They shut it softly and fol¬ 
lowed Una down the hall. She wore her red cloak and walked 
lightly, hardly seeming to touch the ground. By long experi¬ 
ence she knew exactly the boards that squeaked and those that 
did not. The others tried to follow her, but they did not walk 
so deftly and now and then a board creaked ominously. 

At the top of the stairs several silent listening figures 
awaited them, the Slowburn twins, each with a large package 
of sandwiches. Tip—or—yes, of course it was Tip, but what 
a sight! Tip in white flannels and with her face blackened! She 
had a bottle of olives and a package containing two boxes of 


The Midnight Feast 109 

sardines under one arm, and whirled a cane with the other. 
Chiona, in a dark, heavy kimona, stood on the top stair. After 
a second or two, there was a whirring sound and the cuckoo 
jumped out of his hiding place in the clock above the stairs. 
At once the girls began to descend. Cuckoo announced in 
twelve long strokes that it was midnight. Quickly they met 
Clythie and Jean on the floor below and would have reached 
the end of the last flight under cover of the cuckoo’s call, had 
not Gladys stubbed her toe and would have fallen if Tip had 
not caught her. Clythie glared at Tip, who, safe on the lower 
floor with all the world before her, started a noiseless song 
and dance, and Una said fiercely, ‘‘Don’t be stupid. Tip.” It 
took them all some time to cross the petite salle a manger, for 
a governess had the room just above and it was considered to 
be the most difficult place of all. The icy chill of the glass 
veranda made them shiver as they crossed it stealthily. Qythie 
turned the handle of the door at the far end, the one leading 
to the corridor under the Long Gallery, and waited until they 
had all come inside and then shut the heavy door herself, very 
softly. They found themselves facing the dark mistiness of 
the corridor. For an instant they all hesitated, even Una. 
Somehow it was so dark, so long and silent. 

From the garden came the hoot of an owl. The moon was 
big, and a silver glimmer touched the duskiness here and 
there. It was Una who stepped first down the white marble 
steps leading to the corridor. She looked back at the others 
smiling. 

“Come,” she whispered. “Come, the pixies are fairly danc¬ 
ing in the moonlight in the garden. They are having a fairy 
revel and we must have ours. Come!” 

Clythie beckoned to the others, caught Jean’s hand and 
swiftly and silently the naughty band of revellers followed 


no 


Mehitable 


Now and then something wilite gleamed suddenly through 
the gloom, startling them. It proved to be a statue, or an 
easel, all familiar enough objects in the daytime, but rather 
eerie in the whispering night of this ancient building. Some 
leaves falling, swished against the windows. Tip began to 
cake-walk in a long stretch of moonlight. They reached the 
stairs leading to the Long Gallery and when they were all 
safely at the top of the long flight they felt more secure than 
at any time since leaving their rooms. If they kept moderately 
quiet now they were safe. They were very far from watchful 
governesses. Madame was safe in Vichy. That in itself was 
a great blessing, for there was not one of them, even reckless 
Tip, who was not in awe of Madame. Una had confided to 
Mehitable that she would rather have had the feast when 
Madame was at home. 

'‘Somehow it would seem more decent,” she had said, “not 
to take advantage of her absence, but of course it's safer,, 
we have to think of that.” 

They made the last part of their way rather quickly. The 
moon gave them some light and they soon found themselves 
in the middle room. It was the room where Madame, the 
singing mistress, gave her lessons and in the daytime there 
was nothing about it at all unusual. But at night, with the 
moon making opal shadows on the walls and bringing out in 
strange relief the figures on the tapestry curtain in the corner, 
it was somehow indescribably alluring and ghost-like. 

“I see spooks in every corner,” remarked Tip, as she opened 
a sardine box. I 

“Hush, no nonsense of that kind, please. Tip. Someone 
will scream if you begin that sort of talk.” Clythie glanced 
at poor Gladys as she spoke, rather witheringly, for Gladys 
was nervous and showed it. 


Ill 


The Midnight Feast 

A white pool of light in one corner invited their picnic and 
soon they were busy arranging things, and what fun it was! 
Jean had smiled on funny little Julie the nurse, and that com¬ 
bined with a tip had produced some late plums and some rosy 
little apples for the feast. The fruit was put in the center of 
the patch of moonlight which Tip called the tablecloth. 
Nancy’s short-bread and the mocha cake were placed next to it. 
Then came a pot of jam and a large box of biscuits. The 
Slowburn twins’ sandwiches, still in their white nakpin cover¬ 
ing, were laid carefully down and the twins gave an almost 
simultaneous sigh of relief. They had found them a great 
burden and were glad to have them safe at their journey’s end. 
The sandwiches had been in a hat box all the afternoon and 
were quite dry, but were voted delicious by the midnight 
feasters. A bottle of olives held sentinel’s post at each end 
of the feast. They all sat about on the floor. Then Tip waved 
her hand and called out in so loud a voice that she was 
frowned upon by all present. 

''Here begins the famous banquet in the Chateau’s haunted 
room. In all its fifty years as a school—in fact in all the 
hundreds of years of its existence, never before have human' 
beings dared to visit it at night—^you notice that I say human; 
beings, but— 

"Oh, hush. Tip,” put in Una, and they all laughed. 

They were all in the spirit of the adventure. Even Gladys? 
forgot to be cold and to worry about having neuralgia the| 
next day, and joined in the feast with the best of them. 
Sardines spread on Felix Potin’s biscuits and eaten in the deac^ 
of night are delicious, so they agreed. Three bottles of ginger* 
beer produced from the pockets of Tip’s coat were not enough) 
for so many, but the two tin cups did good service and were) 
passed around repeatedly. Tip remained silent in spite of many 


112 


Mehifable 


questionings as to where she had procured them and no one 
ever knew. Una was in high spirits. She sat in a patch of 
moonlight, her face looked very white, and there was an elfish¬ 
ness about her. Chiona sat on one side of her and Mehitable 
on the other. Chiona was a little confused, but no one knew 
it. No one ever knew what Chiona really thought. She took 
an olive that someone passed her, rather gingerly and ate it 
slowly, listening to Una's tale of the mocha cake. 

“Girls," said Una leaning forward and speaking mysteri¬ 
ously, “It really was an adventure, this afternoon, buying the 
cake. Just at the critical moment when all seemed lost, the 
unexpected happened. Out of nowhere a boy appeared. He 
must have been standing just back of me as I ordered the 
cake and must have seen Fraulein turn around, and also' my 
look of despair, for quick as a flash, he took the box from 
the girl and the change as well and gave them to me on the 
way out in the crowd. He was such amice boy, I wonder 
who he could have been," Mehitable was silent and none of 
the others knew. All agreed that it was an adventure and 
eyed the big cake with interest as Una produced a large, very 
rusty knife and started to cut it. She looked up just as she was 
about to cut the first slice and said, “Clythie must dance 
before we have the cake. You promised, you know," she 
added. 

“Yes," assented Jean, “it will be enchanting here in the 
moonlight." 

Clythie wore a long white cloak over the gray crepe frock 
that she had had on during the evening. The moonlight gave 
it an odd green color. Her hair was braided in two shining 
braids about her head. She went over to a far corner of the 
room and stood silent for some minutes. Then suddenly she 
began to dance. While Clythie danced Mehitable thought of 










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The Midnight Feast 113 

water lilies and deep wood shadows, of early bird twitters and 
first fragile spring flowers, nymphs playing in fairy fields, 
sunsets in far-off valleys. When she finished and sank smil¬ 
ingly down beside Jean, everyone clapped softly except 
Mehitable. Instead she looked wistfully at Clythie—how won¬ 
derful she was after all—how beautiful! Tip’s applause was 
so loud that Clythie put out a quick protesting hand. 

“Hush, remember where we are,” she admonished. 

“Well, where are we?” asked Una, pretending to be dazed. 
“I thought we were in fairyland.” 

“This floor doesn't feel much like fairyland,” put in matter 
of fact Gladys. This was rather an unfortunate remark and 
brought them back to earth for a moment, until Una put her 
hand on Chiona’s shoulder and said, “Sing us a little Japanese 
song.” 

“I ought to have my Koto to play on as I sing,” protested 
Chiona, but she sang a pretty quaint air, a lullaby about a 
flower that fell in love with the moon. It was a song that 
had been sung to her when she was a baby far away in Japan. 

“You may sing it with your Koto at the next concert, 
Chiona, but it will not be as thrilling as here in the middle 
of the night. Tell us,” added Clythie, bending towards her 
in her queenly way, “tell us of your life in cherry land.” 

Chiona was silent for a moment, sitting with stiff grace in 
her purple satin kimona, then she said. 

“I will tell you about the day I love best in my country— 
‘Doll Day'.” 

“Doll Day!” exclaimed Tip. 

“Yes, it is the children's day in Japan, but the grown people 
love it too. It also means a great deal to them. It is just 
like a feast day, it is a day of solemness.” 

Tip grinned at this and Clythie glanced at her warningly. 


114 


Mehitable 


'‘Tell us, Chiona,” she said gently, "we are all longing 
to hear/’ 

"We have a long—what do you say—tier of shelves, and 
over that we put a red velvet covering, then the dolls are care¬ 
fully arranged. First on the top shelf are the Emperor and 
Emperess, doll figures of them, beautifully made! Oh, you 
should see how very cleverly they are made. Then on the 
shelf below them are dolls of a little lower rank and so on 
down to the very most humble family in Japan. Then we put 
on our very finest clothing and we invite our friends. They 
come to call upon us and we bring out our loveliest tea service 
and we give them tea. Oh, it is a very, very happy day.” 

No‘ one knew quite what to say when Chiona finished 
speaking. They had all been interested in her story, but the 
oddness of it was so surprising that words somehow failed 
them. To really be serious as Chiona was, about little doll 
figures, seemed unbelievable. 

"We’ve had a story about cherry land, now let’s have one 
about Cherryville,” said Una, smiling at Mehitable, as she 
passed around ample slices of the cake. Mehitable hesitated. 
If only Clythie was not there. Why did she find it so difficult 
to speak before her? 

Suddenly a thought of their last picnic came to her, the one 
when they had built the biggest fire of all. And sitting there 
amongst her new friends she told about the old ones, of the 
far away dear hollow in the wood, of the whispering ferns 
and the sweet hot pine air, of the charmed circle about their 
big fire of brush. She told about Robin and Johnnie, about 
dear Barbara and the Bently twins, until she suddenly grew 
so homesick that she was obliged to stop. It was because of 
Barbara. She never ceased to long for her to share this won¬ 
derful new life, and in speaking of her for the first time to 


The Midnight Feast 115 

these new girls, she suddenly became doubly dear. She turned 
towards Una as she finished and before anyone could speak, 
she said herself, “Tell us about Ireland, Una.” 

Una patted her hand. “Some day I hope I’ll meet them all 
and see the hollow,” she whispered. Then as others clamored 
for a story, she smiled rather mysteriously and raised her 
eyebrows. 

“A story,” she exclaimed, “Why the only sort of story for 
to-night is a ghost story or a fairy story. 

“Do you really believe in fairies, Una?” asked Jean. 

Una nodded. The moon touched her pale little face with a 
wan light. “Oh, yes, the wee people dance about on wild 
spring nights, when the moon is hid. Who can deny it? 
Garth Hall, my home, is a strange place too, of a late hour 
at night, when the moon plays hide and seek as it does 
to-night,” she added. 

“What do you mean?” someone asked breathlessly. 

Una yawned. “Oh, it’s best not to tell creepy tales at this 
late hour, and in this place,” she looked about at the listening 
upturned faces. “The timid ones would be scared entirely. 
They’d be sure to make a row,” she added, “if I should tell 
all I know.” 

“Oh, tell us, Una, tell about Garth Hall at night,” pleaded 
several voices. 

“Oh, there’s nothing very much to tell, only part of the 
place we don’t use. Part of Garth Hall,” she went on speak¬ 
ing slowly, “is haunted.” 

“Oh, how spooky you are, Una. Of course we don’t be¬ 
lieve in such nonsense,” put in one of the Slowburn twins, “at 
least Bella and I don’t. There are no ghosts anywhere around 
Columbus, Ohio.” 

“Is that so?” said a very Scotch voice, and they all turned 


116 


Mehitahle 


to look at Nancy who in her green plaid coat and with her 
sandy pigtails made anything but a romantic figure, “Maybe 
they’ve a good deal to learn in Columbus, but up around our 
way in Scotland, and around her way,” nodding at Una, “we 
have fair many odd happenings.” 

She lapsed into silence after this and Mehitable regarded 
her with curiosity. “She’s so matter of fact,” thought 
Mehitable, “yet she’s superstitious. Perhaps it’s because she’s 
Scotch.” 

“What have you ever seen, Una, or rather what do you 
think you’ve seen?” inquired Clythie. 

“Oh, don’t tell about it now,” begged Gladys. 

“We’re all scarecats to be afraid of nothing. Ghosts— 
pooh,” scoffed Tip. “Go on, Una,” she added. 

Una looked at her a moment rather dreamily. “I never 
saw her out but twice myself, the gray lady I mean, the very, 
very white lady in gray. Once it was early in the morning. 
I went on a message for cook, and went through the old part 
to save time. The sun was shining and I never thought of 
ghosts. The other time was at twilight. We were playing 
tennis and I lost my ball. It fell over the court of the old 
wing and I went over to find it. I saw her standing in the 
shadow—she—” 

“What’s that?” It was Clythie’s voice, sharp and fright¬ 
ened. Someone screamed slightly and then for a moment 
there was only petrified silence. 

The tapestry curtain on the opposite wall was moving, there 
was no doubt about it. An instant later something stepped 
into the room. What was it? No one dared to move or 
speak. It was a dim figure in the half light, but it moved 
swiftly into a patch of white and came steadily toward them. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE STORY OF ROSE MATHILDE 

They saw a boy in gray tweeds smiling at them from the 
shadows. Yes, someone of real flesh and blood, someone who 
looked rather disappointedly toward the ravished feast, a 
hungry boy. ‘'Hush, don’t be frightened. I’m Phillippe de 
Villiers, Madame’s grandson.” 

He came up to them and as the light shone full upon him, 
Una cried out, "Why it’s the cake boy!” 

This remark broke the ice and caused them all to laugh. 
The rescuer of the mocha cake was welcome indeed, even 
though he had frightened them so. 

"The cake’s all gone, what a pity,” exclaimed Tip. 

"Never mind,” Phillippe said as he sat down in the place 
in the circle they had made for him. "If you’ll just let me join 
in the fun for awhile, that’s all I want. I guessed from some¬ 
thing I heard you say in the cake shop, that the feast was to 
be up here,” he added, turning to Una with a smile. 

He saw Mehitable sitting in the shadow and there was a 
twinkle in his eye as he smiled at her. What a secret they 
had in common! What fun it all was! Mehitable wondered 
if ever before there had been anything as thrilling as this 
party in the Long Gallery. In a minute Phillippe was provided 
with biscuits and sardines and the remaining three olives and 
some plums. 

"You see I’ve a secret way up here. You saw how I came, 
that is you saw me appear from behind the curtain. If I 
couldn’t explore around here and find out funny secret places 


117 


118 


Mehitahle 


I'd—well, rd never be able to stand the loneliness. Y ou were 
telling ghost tales when I came in. Do go on, we all want 
to hear some more.” 

Una shook her head. “No you tell a story,” she demanded. 
“Couldn't you tell something about the Chateau?” suggested 
Mehitable. 

“Yes do, it would be sure to be creepy,” put in Tip. 

Phillippe clasped his hands about his knees and looked 
smilingly from Una to Mehitable. “I'd rather hear more 
about the very white lady in gray,” he said. “But—let me 
see. Yes, I dO' know something to tell about the Chateau.” 

He was silent for a moment and they all waited quietly for 
him to begin. He too sat in a patch of moonlight and his face 
as he began to speak grew suddenly grave, almost mysterious. 

“My story isn’t really a creepy one,” he said, “it’s just 
something that happened here, well, a good many years ago, 
something that happened to my great, great-aunt.” 

“Something real. Oh, do tell it,” breathed Mehitable. 

“Oh, yes, tell us please,” exclaimed the others, for he seemed 
to hesitate. 

“I'm very bad at telling tales. I make any story as stupid 
as can be, but this is interesting to me because it is about my 
own great, great-aunt. If grandmother ever changes about 
the old wing, I mean if she will ever let you all come over 
there, I’ll show you the picture of Aunt Rose Mathilde.” 

Someone passed him the last olive and he ate it slowly 
while trying to think of the right words for his story. 

“Our family—my father's family of course,—suffered badly 
in the Revolution of 1792 , the very dreadful revolution when 
our king and queen were executed.” He glanced at Mehitable 
as he spoke, being sure of her interest. “Several estates in 
the middle south were destroyed or taken over by the govern- 


The Story of Rose Mathilde 119 

merit and a number, four I think, of the men in the family, 
cousins, were beheaded by the guillotine/' 

"‘Oh, I like this story," put in Tip. Phillippe smiled and 
went on. “My great-great-great-grandparents (Oh, I wish I 
didn’t have to say that every time I speak of those long ago 
people! Suppose I just say ‘my grandparents' and ‘great aunt' - 
and let it go at that. You know what I mean.)—were in 
England when the worst of the first trouble began and just 
as they were starting back for France, my grandmother be¬ 
came ill. My grandfather could not leave her alone. He had 
no idea at first of the great seriousness of the revolution and 
sent word by carrier to one of the cousins, asking him to come 
at once to England with Aunt Rose Mathilde, who was here 
in Paris at the Chateau with a companion. By the time the 
letter reached Paris the cousin was waiting his trial in prison. 
Rose Mathilde was still here at the Chateau, though most of 
the servants had left and her companion, who was in a terrible 
state of fear, was making ready to fly to the country. As the 
story goes, she begged and begged Rose Mathilde to go with 
her, but she would not, for she did not really believe there 
could be any great danger for her. She was in her own home 
where her ancestors had lived and she could not realize the 
danger. She kept expecting that her father and mother would 
come every day and knew nothing of course of her mother's 
illness, and her father’s orders for her to come to England. 
She could not know this for of course the letter to the cousin 
never reached him nor any of the family." 

Phillippe stopped speaking and looked around. “There isn't 
anything to drink is there?" he asked. “I’m so thirsty." There 
proved to be several swallows of ginger ale in one of the 
bottles. He drank it eagerly and then went on with his tale. 

“The companion was rather a silly sort of woman, I should 


Mehitable 


120 

think, for she had hysterics and carried on so much that Rose 
Mathilde insisted on her going to her sister's near Limoges, 
which was a fairly safe district just then. She said that she 
herself must wait here at the Chateau for her parents as she 
knew they would want her to do so. She had no fear of any¬ 
thing happening to her and so the companion did leave and 
Rose Mathilde stayed on for several weeks alone, except for 
the few servants that remained. 

“She did not dare to go out alone on the streets, but some¬ 
times a few friends would come to see her. It's difficult tO' ex¬ 
plain somehow, but at this time it was only the beginning of 
the trouble, and people still went about a little, tried to be just 
as usual, and would not believe that anything could really hap¬ 
pen to them. Several families, a good many in fact, were not 
troubled at all for some months and not really feeling them¬ 
selves in danger, did not try to escape until it was too late." 

Phillippe looked about apologetically. “Fm telling this in 
such a bungling way," he said. 

“Oh, do go on," pleaded Jean. “I must know what hap¬ 
pened to Rose Mathilde." 

“First I must tell you about the heroine of the story." 

“Isn't Rose Mathilde the heroine?" asked Clythie. 

Phillippe shook his head. “No, she isn't the heroine,” he 
answered. “Although Rose Mathilde sent several times for 
her modiste, she did not answer the summons. She was a 
funny little woman, but a very clever dressmaker and she was 
used to coming to the Chateau, in fact she was very fond of 
all the ladies in the family and had seemed to take great 
pleasure in making their frocks and dressing them for the 
great balls they so often attended. She was especially fond 
of Rose Mathilde and thought her the most beautiful girl in 
the world. She always delighted in making her charming 


121 


The Story of Rose Mathilde 

clothes and was never so happy as when she could stay and 
see the last of her before she would step into her carriage to 
be driven to some wonderful ball. All this had been before 
the revolution, but since the more serious state of things, 
Mademoiselle Toto had not appeared. Rose Mathilde felt this 
very much and felt even worse when she heard that the little 
dressmaker was on the side of the revolutionists. When she 
found that she was almost alone, she missed the kind woman 
who had seemed to admire her in the old days. She wished 
that she could ask her advice and was sadly grieved to feel that 
even funny little Mademoiselle Toto had deserted her. 

'^Rose Mathilde had a lover, but he wasn’t of very much use 
to her because he was away fighting with the royalists. With 
her uncle and four cousins imprisoned, it seemed as though 
there was no one to whom she could turn. She stayed all day 
in her garden here. The old cook had some stores of provi¬ 
sions and would go out at night for milk and meat when she 
could get it. So the days went by and still no word came to 
Rose Mathilde from the world outside. She grew at last very 
tired, and one day when old Selene die cook came to her in 
the garden and told her that she had a visitor and that the 
visitor was Mademoiselle Toto, she was so relieved that she 
nearly embraced her when she went into the salon and found 
her there. 

*‘But she saw at once that the little dressmaker was in ter¬ 
rible distress. At first it seemed as though she could not speak 
at all, but in a very few minutes, she was able to tell RovSe 
Mathilde all that she had come to say. She told her that she 
was in great danger of her life, and must fly at once. She 
grew very impatient when Rose Mathilde would not believe 
her and finally made her see the situation just as it was. 
Mademoiselle Toto told her that from the beginning of the 


122 


Mehitable 


worst of the trouble, she had been apparently interested in the 
revolutionists side, but that she had done it simply because she 
realized that it was the only way that she could be of any real 
help to the family that she loved and who had always done so 
much for her. She had been able to get many valuable bits of 
information, but only that day had she heard news of the 
greatest importance. The news was that Rose Mathilde herself 
was tO' be arrested within a few hours, that spies were in 
waiting for her parents, should they set foot in France, and 
that the Chateau itself was to be given over to the revolu¬ 
tionists. 

“Rose Mathilde listened to this story as though she were 
in a dream. At last she realized her danger and turned to her 
one friend to help her, promising to do exactly as she told her, 
for only by doing so could she be saved. Mademoiselle Toto 
assured her.’’ 

“What did she look like ?” asked Una. 

“Who, Mademoiselle Toto? Well, there is no picture of 
her, but the story goes that she was very odd and sort of 
wizened looking. Some of our relatives have a letter written 
afterward that said she had on a funny buff-colored frock 
that day and a white bonnet that came way over her face. 
These she made Rose Mathilde put on at once, pinning her 
lovely golden hair as far back as she could so that it would 
not show beneath her bonnet, she showed her how she must 
stoop over and tried to impress upon her the fact that she 
must, absolutely must, stoop all the time and must keep her 
face as far back inside the bonnet as she could. Rose Mathilde 
practised trying to walk like Mademoiselle Toto and made 
herself as small and bent over as she could, for the plan of 
the little dressmaker was this: 

“Rose Mathilde was to go out of the Chateau disguised as 


123 


The Story of Rose Mathilde 

Mademoiselle Toto. She was to go at once to an address that 
the dressmaker gave her, and there would find a friend who 
would take her out of the gates. There was a passport ready 
for her and the friend whose name she gave, would see her 
safe in a chaise bound for Calais, before he left her. She then 
must trust in God, for that was all they could do for her. 
There had been no time to get any word to Calais, but there 
was an anti-revolutionist there, a Paul Deleau, who would 
shelter her if he could. Poor Mademoiselle Toto tried to im¬ 
press on Rose Mathilde how very careful she must be. The 
friend in Paris would give her another disguise, but even so 
her path would be beset with the greatest dangers. Rose 
Mathilde promised to do all that Mademoiselle Toto told her 
and then asked what the dressmaker herself would do. ‘Do 
not be afraid for me, I can quite well take care of myself,^ 
so the letter says was the answer. She was very angry with 
Rose Mathilde for hesitating at the idea of leaving here there 
and said she could quite well make up a disguise for herself 
if only Rose Mathilde would go. She hurried her to the front 
entrance and watched her go down the garden path. At the 
door in the wall Rose Mathilde turned and waved her hand 
and then opened it and went out.’' 

There was breathless interest from the little group around 
Phillippe, as he paused a minute. “Go on as soon as you can,” 
entreated Tip, who was following every word. It was the 
sort of story that she liked best of all. 

“I don’t like to tell the rest, but I suppose I must,” said 
Phillippe, and he went on with the tale before anyone could 
speak again. “Rose Mathilde stepped outside and found her¬ 
self alone on the street for the first time in her life. She 
crossed the road and went down a side street on her left, as 
Mademoiselle Toto had told her to do. Her heart almost 


124 


Mehitable 


stopped beating, for as she hurried on, a group of soldiers 
came along on the other side of the street. They were shout¬ 
ing and singing as they came, and when they saw her they 
waved their arms and shouted all the louder. She was ter¬ 
rified but realized after a moment that they took her for the 
dressmaker, for one of them who was in officer's uniform 
called out, ‘That is old Toto.' They passed on in the direc¬ 
tion of the Chateau and Rose Mathilde stood looking after 
them, being almost too frightened to move. Suddenly she 
thought of Mademoiselle Toto. What if these soldiers were 
making straight for the Chateau? Oh, her rescuer had not 
expected them so soon. Would she be able to get away before 
these men arrived? She half started back but realized there 
was nothing she could do and so hurried on to the faraway 
part of the city where she was to find the man who was to take 
her out of Paris.” 

Phillippe stopped speaking and someone said, ‘Ts that all?” 

‘‘No, of course not. Rose Mathilde had all sorts of ad¬ 
ventures, but she did finally reach England in safety and found 
her father and mother. There are chronicles of her adventures 
on the way, some other time if you like, perhaps I can tell 
you.” 

“There is more. Oh do tell what happened to Mademoiselle 
Toto,” said Mehitable. 

“She was the heroine, you know,” answered Phillippe 
slowly. “And in those days a great many people died for 
their friends.” 

“You mean that she was killed?” asked Clythie. 

Phillippe nodded. “Pm sorry to have told such a sad sort 
of tale, but you wanted something that really happened. 
There’s no use in making up a happy ending, for it wouldn’t 
be true.” 


The Story of Rose Mathilde 125 

“Oh, no,” said Una softly. “If they could go through with 
it all, we can bear to hear it,” she added. 

Phillippe gave her an approving smile. “That's what I 
feel,” he agreed. “Mademoiselle Toto, as I said, had not ex¬ 
pected the soldiers so soon. She was very quick-witted, which 
Rose Mathilde was not, and if she had not been so taken by 
surprise, it’s possible she might have gotten away in some 
of the cook’s clothes, but while she was making up a disguise, 
they found her, and when they realized what she had done, 
they arrested her and took her to prison. They were furious 
that Rose Mathilde had escaped and there was no chance for 
the dressmaker. She confessed that she had aided her escape 
and she herself died on the guillotine. Oh, she was splendid. 
She will never know what a help she’s been to me. I’m far 
prouder of her than of many of my own ancestors—good 
little Mademoiselle Toto,” he added. “She was worth ten of 
Rose Mathilde.” 

Several of the girls were wiping their eyes and Gladys 
said, “What a sad story.” 

Phillippe shook his head smiling. “Not really sad,” he 
answered. 

“It’s a glorious story,” said Tip, her eyes shining. Some¬ 
where in the distance a clock struck one. They thanked Phil¬ 
lippe, and he thanked them for a jolly half hour, and then 
quietly without mishap the revellers crept back to their rooms. 


CHAPTER XIV 
jour des morts^^ 

October flew by so quickly that it seemed incredible to 
Mehitable when she woke one morning and found she had 
been a month at the Chateau. It had been a month of blue and 
gold days, of walks under scarlet trees in the Bois, of study¬ 
ing in the salle d’etude with the sun streaming in through 
the long French windows. A month of new impressions, new 
thoughts and emotions; twO' wonderful afternoons in Paris, 
one with Nancy and Gladys and once alone with Una and jolly 
Madame Bourget. That had been a red letter day, sun and 
beauty on the great wide rue de Rivoli; they had walked 
almost the whole length of it, Madame Bourget in the middle, 
holding them firmly one on each side. The great black mass 
of humanity surged along with them, jewels and flowers 
and finery had sparkled from the windows. 

A long hour in the Musee Carnavali, gazing at things that 
Napoleon had used and loved! Then away from the dusk of 
the museum, breathing of old-time treasures, away for a sail 
down the Seine on a gay little white steamer, tea at Sainte 
Cloud on the terrace! Back again toward the gray and gold 
city, with autumn wind blowing in their faces and the smil¬ 
ing interest of an old cure and a whole family of pleasure 
seekers, papa, mamma, and five dark-haired children surround¬ 
ing them! It had been a joyful day and she had written of it 
in a long letter to Barbara. 

Through October, Mehitable had played a great deal and 
worked only enough to make a fair showing in ‘1e classe 

126 


Le Jour Des Morts 


127 


particulaire.” She had not really meant to neglect things, and 
a letter from Aunt Comfort on a gray morning early in 
November, made her realize that it was time she began to 
work in earnest. The letter was a kind, almost chatty one. 
Aunt Comfort had spoken of Barbara. “She comes over to see 
us several times during the day and we read your letters over 
and wish for you. We know that you have begun to work 
toward your future and are willing to bear the loneliness, 
knowing what the separation will mean to you.’^ This from 
Aunt Comfort! Mehitable could hardly believe it because it 
did not sound like her at all. “We are willing to bear the loneli¬ 
ness because we know what the separation will mean to you.” 
How good they were, how she loved them! She was thinking 
of them as she made ready for the promenade. She liked to 
imagine showing Paris to Barbara, for the first time, wondered 
what Johnnie and Robin would think of this and that. After 
all, they were the vital things in her life, these old friends, 
no matter how interesting the new ones might seem. 

Mehitable was very happy in her friendship with Una. It 
meant much to her of charm and of romance, and it was to 
mean very much in her later life. But Una was an older stu¬ 
dent, with many demands on her time. She was in a high class, 
next to the head, under a very strict teacher. She and Clythie 
and Jean naturally had many past good times and experiences 
in common. Mehitable felt this, and at times was very lonely. 
Homesickness talked to her this dark gloomy day. It had 
rained for nearly a week, and though at last the rain had 
ceased, there was still a gray sky and a sense of brooding in 
the air. They were all to go for the promenade, so Mehitable 
met Una on the veranda and they joined a group of girls with 
Mademoiselle Gelere, and started out for their walk. The 
leaves had fallen rapidly and the trees looked gaunt and bare. 


128 


Mehitable 


‘‘The trees are lonely for the leaves/’ Mehitable said to Una, 
as they walked off toward the upper part of Neuilly, and away 
from the city. 

“You say such gloomy things to-day, Mehitable,” answered 
Una. 

She was a little cross, for she had been trying to work and 
at the same time enjoy herself. Fun was the spice of life to 
Una. No one had discovered the midnight feast, and this 
had given them great confidence. They had not again at¬ 
tempted anything as daring as another feast in the Long 
Gallery, but they had had many an impromptu good time; 
meeting for short gay talks on the stairs, after dinner, with 
Tip standing guard at the top. Singing together in the prac- 
tise-rooms English songs, everything from the “Quaker Girl” 
to Tosti’s “Goodbye.” All this was very much against the 
rules, for no English was allowed at the Chateau. 

“The trees are lonely without the leaves”—Mademoiselle 
Gelere had understood this. “You must not speak English, 
Mademoiselle,” she admonished. “You are right, this is a 
lonely day,” she added. Mehitable looked at her inquiringly. 
“It is le jour des morts,” she went on, “the day of the dead. 
It is the day when all in France go to the graves of those 
they love.” She spoke English because she knew that as yet 
Mehitable could not quite understand. 

As they turned a corner they came upon a number of people 
dressed in black, carrying flowers, white and pink asters and 
pale roses. Their faces were sad and they seemed a part some¬ 
how of the gray day, with its listless, falling leaves and still, 
brooding air. A little farther on they met a long row of school 
children, all in black and all carrying wreaths of flowers 
or green leaves, and on their way home they had to wait at 
a corner for some time as a procession of carriages and motors 


Le Jour Des Morfs 


129 


went by, filled with heaped-up piles of flowers, glowing roses, 
lilies, golden chrysanthemums, v/reaths, crosses, white and 
rose and violet. Flowers for the many loved graves of the 
Paris dead. 

As they stood on the corner waiting, two flower girls offered 
them bouquets, simple ones, rosebuds and asters tied together 
with bits of grass. Una and Mehitable begged Mademoiselle 
to let them buy some, just a few pence for the fragrant posies, 
but Mademoiselle shook her head. It was against Madame’s 
orders for them to buy anything on the promenade and she 
could not therefore consent. She was thinking of her own 
sister in a faraway grave in the south of France, and she 
wiped her eyes as they turned into the open green door of the 
Chateau gate. 

Madame had returned from Vichy the night before. It was 
her habit since she had more or less given over the directing 
of the school to the Head Mistress, to spend the month of 
October in Vichy for her rheumatism. In fact, she was obliged 
to go there at intervals during the winter. Her influence, how¬ 
ever, was present always at the Chateau; there was no one 
who did not stand in awe of her very name. To Mehitable, 
who had only seen her for a moment that first evening, she 
was a fascinating and awe-inspiring person. 

At recreation on the “jour des morts,” Mehitable wandered 
down the long corridor to the door leading to the old part; 
she had been there on two other Thursdays, but the door 
had always been locked and she was beginning to despair of 
seeing Phillippe again. No one had seen him since the night 
of the feast in the Long Gallery, but they had talked it all 
over many times in great excitement, surmising as to why he 
never came to the school. His timely arrival the night of the 
feast had been the crowning touch to a most thrilling event. 


130 


Mehitable 


Mehitable had never told of her adventure in going’ to the 
old part. It was fun to have the secret just between herself 
and Phillippe. 

To her delight the door opened easily and she went inside 
and shut it as she had done that Thursday, four weeks before. 
Again the long, gloomy rooms stretched before her, and be¬ 
cause of the darkness outside, they seemed somehow bleak 
and forbidding. She ran across them quickly, toward the 
stairway leading to Phillippe’s rooms, but as she neared the 
door of the last room she stopped and stood motionless. Some¬ 
one was coming toward her down the stairs. 

Mehitable’s heart beat quickly. She stood with her hands 
at her sides. She looked a very little figure as she stood there 
with the gloom of the great room behind her; a figure in a 
badly made brown dress, with rather untidy locks of hair 
falling about her forehead. Madame saw all this, for it was 
Madame! She came up toi Mehitable and stood looking at 
her in astonishment. The sharp eagle-like eyes resembling 
Phillippe’s in spite of the sternness of their gaze, looked 
straight into Mehitable’s gray ones. She recognized her as the 
little new girl who had come with Fraulein. 

For a moment there was silence, and then she said: ‘What 
is the meaning of this ? Why are you here Mademoiselle ? Do 
you not know that you are breaking a school law Her voice 
was cold and sharp. 

Mehitable had never heard any voice like it before; it seemed 
somehow to deprive her of speech. She clasped her hands to¬ 
gether and looked up bravely at Madame. ‘T cameTo see Phil¬ 
lippe,” she said simply. 

“You came to see Phillippe!” Madame repeated, “Explain 
yourself,” she added. 

Now it was indeed hard for Mehitable. She had spoken 


Le Jour Des Morts 


131 


honestly and impulsively, and Madame naturally expected an 
explanation. Could she ever make her understand that she 
had not really meant to be sO' naughty ? 

“It was just after I came—one day I found the door open 
and—and I came in—I knew it wasn’t allowed but I was 
homesick and oh, I so' wanted to see the old part of the castle, 
I’d dreamed and dreamed about, it and then I found Phil- 
lippe.” 

“You went to my grandson’s apartments?” 

“I went up the stairs and he saw me and asked me to come 
in. We talked for quite a while and had such a good time,” 
she added. She looked up at Madame again, as she spoke. 
There was some fear in her eyes, but there was honesty and 
wistfulness too. Mehitable was frightened but she felt that 
Madame would understand. She would have been very much 
more uneasy had she had any idea of the sharpness of 
Madame’s temper, but she was soon to find this out, for as 
Madame looked at her, Mehitable saw that she was very 
angry. How could she make her understand. She had been 
disobedient but somehow she had never meant to be as naughty 
as Madame’s eyes seemed to make her out. She would never 
understand how she had dreamed of old places all her life, 
how the old wing of the castle had seemed to call her. 

Madame’s voice broke in on her quick startled thought. 
Mehitable was right, she could not know her dreams and 
fancies; she saw her only as a very naughty little girl, and as 
such she judged her. To be sure she had been quite honest. 
Madame had admitted that, for she tried to be just. She said 
at once that she knew she had broken the rules; being a new 
girl she might have saved herself somewhat by pretending 
ignorance of the fact that one must keep absolutely away 
from the old wing. Well, she would not break this rule in 


132 


Mehitahle 


the future. Madame would make sure of that. Perhaps the 
grayness of the day outside or some very deep trouble of her 
own made Madame unmoved by the appeal in Meliitable's 
eyes. 

^‘You have begun your first term at the Chateau by extreme 
disobedience. Your name was on the list of those wishing to 
go to the opera to-morrow night ?” 

*^Yes, Madame/’ answered Mehitable faintly. 

“To punish you then I shall not allow you to go to-morrow 
night or any time during this month, nor can you go to Paris 
on a half holiday afternoon through November, and of course, 
you are never to come to this part of the Chateau again. She 
waved toward the door through which Mehitable had come, 
far back at the end of the silent old ballroom. “Go' back to 
the school,” she added sternly, then gathering together some 
papers she had in her hands she herself turned and walked 
quickly down a long corridor at the side of the stairway. 

Mehitable stood silently for a moment, and then turned and 
walked slowly back, opened the forbidden door and stepped 
into the hall below the Long Gallery. The garden outside 
seemed full of girls, for it was recreation hour, and the day 
was mild though so dark and still. As she stood there for a 
moment, Mehitable thought of the afternoon when she had 
first gone to the old wing, how she had watched Clythie and 
Jean walking in the garden and how she wished they had 
asked her to join them. They almost never asked her to do 
anything. Being Una’s friends, they were always gracious 
to her and when they all did things together she was with 
them, but these two girls had somehow never taken her in, 
they had never tried to know her. Once Jean had asked her 
to come for a walk in the garden some day, but she had not 
repeated the invitation and Mehitable had been too shy to 


Le Jour Des Marts 


133 


remind her. She turned now and walked slowly upstairs to 
the Long Gallery and on, into one of the far practise-rooms; 
it was the last one and there was no piano, only an old table 
and chair. It was never used as a schoolroom. 

Mehitable went over to the v/indow and stood there look¬ 
ing out. The voices of the girls in the garden came to her 
faintly; she stood with her hands folded on the sill and saw 
the garden through a blurr of tears. For weeks she had looked 
forward to this night at the opera. Mrs. Lindsay had wished 
her to go now and then, so she had been able to put her name 
down with Una's and some of the others. Even Nancy was 
going, and Gladys, who always wanted to do as Mehitable 
did, was going too^—she would have to stay at home alone. 
Mehitable knew that in spite of this disappointment, it was not 
the real reason for her unhappiness. Discontent had been talk¬ 
ing to her all day, self-pity and all sorts of black things. “It's 
the day," she whispered to herself, “it’s the gray, gray, day,” 
but she knew that it was not really so. She felt little resent¬ 
ment toward Madame, though just at first she had been 
angry. She realized that she had quite knowingly broken the 
rules, and that in a way her punishment was deserved. Madame 
could not understand it all, could not quite know how she was 
feeling. 

She would not see Phillippe again, that was the hardest of 
all. They had become friends in that one encounter and she 
had so looked forward to knowing him better, to hearing 
more about the castle, its old secrets, real ones that Phillippe 
knew, his life in England and oh, so many things. He had 
wanted to know about Cherryville, had been really interested. 
There were so many things she could have told him, and he 
was so lonely, surely it was not right for him to be so by him¬ 
self. Why, oh why, did Madame guard him so closely? 


134 


M ehitable 


“There is some trouble, some great sadness,” thought 
Mehitable. She had seen sorrow in Madame's eyes, and in 
spite of her own hurt a real feeling of pity welled up in her 
heart. “She’s sad, that is one reason why I couldn’t make 
her understand,” she thought. 

Mehitable’s thoughts were interrupted suddenly by voices in 
the next room. Someone began to play a bar or two of music. 
It was the little waltz air that Jean played for Clythie when 
she danced. It changed suddenly to “Couleur de rose” from 
the “Quaker Girl”—then the music stopped, and Mehitable 
heard Clythie’s voice. 

“Do you really think Madame will want me to dance at 
the concert Saturday night, Jean? One never knows what 
she will like.” 

“Oh, yes, do Clythie,” Jean’s voice answered. “The gover¬ 
nesses all want you to, they have never seen you dance. What 
will you wear ?” 

“The gray, I think, and the thin rose scarf, it’s so shiny 
and soft. You’ll wear your new blue. Oh, you’re sweet in 
that, Jeanie.” 

“It is rather nice,” answered Jean. “Oh, I do wish we 
had some sort of fluffiness for that poor child, Mehitable.” 

Clythie’s voice broke in. “Jean, she dresses like a—why 
some very poor sort of farmer girl, or not like that either, 
for farmer girls generally manage to have something pre¬ 
sentable. Those brown dresses of her’s and that awful red 
and white check silk she puts on for the concerts! She’s so 
plain anyway. Of course, she can’t help that, but really, you 
know, she doesn’t look like a Chateau girl at all.” 

“She has such nice eyes, lovely ones. She’s rather a dear 
I imagine, if one really knew her, but her clothes are 
hopeless.” 


Le Jour Des Morfs 


135 


Would they ever stop? Mehitable held on tightly to the 
window ledge and looked out at the dark ivy-covered wall 
of the garden, at the brooding sky and the piles of wet leaves. 
She did not move or stir. A bell rang in the distance, and she 
heard a quick movement in the next room as the girls hastily 
put their music together and went out. She heard them run¬ 
ning down the stairs and saw everyone going toward the 
dining room, for recreation was over and the tea bell had 
sounded. She stood there until tea was over and the bell for 
classes had rung. She had no class that hour. Then she 
went slowly down the stairs, and taking her brown coat off a 
hook by the door where they kept their garden wraps, she 
went out into the quiet twilight. 

It had grown colder, and she shivered slightly as she walked 
through the little dark pine path that led to the front of the 
house. She went directly to a tree that stood near a clump of 
birches. It was a chestnut tree and it had a hollow seat. The 
seat was quite low and the branches almost hid one from view 
even without their leaves. Mehitable had found the tree some 
days before and several times had come to it during recrea¬ 
tion; she had to climb a little way to reach the seat, but that 
>vas nothing to a girl brought up in Cherryville. She could 
see the lights of Paris in the distance, rose and gold and 
white. She had written a little poem about them and had 
meant to show it to Una; now she felt as though she did not 
care if she never wrote again. She curled up somehow in the 
old tree, and there in the silence of the garden, with only the 
faint twitter of sleepy birds to break the heaviness of her 
grief, she sobbed her heart out. The birds did help her; one 
courageous sparrow came and looked at her from a nearby 
branch. He seemed to say, *‘See here, you funny human, 
aren’t you ashamed to cry that way and to think yourself 


136 


Mehitable 


such an abused girl! Don’t you know that you have all sorts 
of lovely things to be grateful for ? Hasn’t your dream come 
true? Haven’t you come to France where you can see and 
learn all kinds of wonderful things? Shouldn’t you be rejoic¬ 
ing every minute over this? Doesn’t Una love you? Wouldn’t 
you rather have her for a friend than any of the others, and 
hasn’t she said you are to go and see her in Ireland some 
day? Isn’t that one of your dreams come true? Oh, Mehitable, 
iorget yourself- and your petty troubles. No one who is worth 
while, really minds your clothes. Take care of your thoughts 
and your actions and your clothes will take care of themselves. 
How do you. know what’s in store for you? Don’t let two 
girls’ idle cliatter make you miserable. Forget it and smile. 
Cheer up, some homesick girl that may be more downhearted 
than yourself. Why, I’m ashamed of you, Mehitable Webster. 
What would the Cherryville friends think of you now? You’ve 
come here to work hard—aren’t you forgetting that?” 

Had he really spoken? Of course not! How absurd. 
Mehitable smiled through her tears and gazed at the funny 
little sparrow who watched her so inquisitively. “I’ll just 
pretehd he did speak, and I’ll stop crying this very second,” 
she thought. 

It was not so easy, however, for the hurt had seemed a very 
real one and had cut deep, but somehow she felt better, and 
sat up in the hollow, gathering the coat close about her 
shoulders. Jut then the gate bell clanged loudly, and she 
soon heard Jose’s shuffling footsteps. It had grown so dark 
that he carried a lantern and fumbled at the door. It opened 
at last and someone stepped inside. In the waning light, 
Mehitable saw a lady. She stood for a moment, speaking to 
Jose, who went hastily back toward the Chateau, calling in 
his high cracked voice for Jacques the under-gardener to come 


Les Jour Des Moris 


137 


and help with some luggage. A dark looking woman, evi¬ 
dently the lady’s maid, put a bag inside the garden door and 
went back for more. Mehitable could hear the chug of a 
motor standing outside. Suddenly the newcomer turned and 
saw her, half hidden as she was, by the branches. She looked 
so a part of the tree in her brown cloak that the lady laughed. 

“Why, child, how you startled me! Are you a tree nymph 
or a real little girl?” She smiled at Mehitable as she spoke, 
coming close to her. “Her smile,” thought Mehitable, is the 
most motherly smile in the world.” She smiled back at the 
lady though her face was tear-stained, and she knew that she 
must look very forlorn. 

The lady saw the tears and leaned farther toward her. 
“What is it, my child, why are you Jiere alone? It is so cold 
and dark.” 

Mehitable found herself answering quite easily. “I—I was 
so sad, so unhappy—I had to come somewhere alone, away 
from them all—I’ve been here before, I can see the lights of 
Paris from here. To-day a little bird came and talked to me 
and comforted me so much—of course, he didn’t really talk, 
I just like to pretend he did.” 

The lady nodded as though she understood. She stood 'up. 
and drew a dark fur cape more closely about her shoulders. 
She was tall and had a beautiful pale face. Her eyes were 
gray and the hair under her wide, dark hat was very fair. She 
was like something, someone, who was it? Just then the 
maid came in with another bag, and the two seryants came up 
the path. The lady leaned over and put her hand on Mehitable’s 
shoulder. 

“Dear child, be happy. Oh, be happy! I am so full of 
joy myself to-night that I cannot bear to see you miserable. 
It is only au revoir. I shall see you again.” 


138 


Mehitable 


She was gone toward the Chateau, her maid and the man 
following with her luggage. Mehitable waited a few mo¬ 
ments, and in spite of the cold and loneliness of her nest, in 
spite of the ache at her heart which somehow was not quite 
so hard to bear, she felt an odd feeling of happiness. The joy 
and the understanding and the sweetness in the eyes of the 
lady had taken away her bitterness. She climbed down from 
the tree and walked the length of the garden, entering the 
house by the garden door. No one saw her. She closed the 
door against the darkness outside. 


CHAPTER XV 

“the play's the thing“ 

Sunshine made the old garden a picture of black and gold 
the next few days. Even the damp trodden leaves had a burn¬ 
ished look and the asters woke up from their dejected slumber, 
for they are hardy little flowers. All the week the Chateau 
girls spent their recreation hour in the garden and their glad 
voices rang back and forth through the autumn air. A group 
of them had gathered, one day, in a little summer house at a 
far corner of the garden. Clythie, who was always the undis¬ 
puted head in any important matter of discussion, her faithful 
‘Jean, and Una O’Hara. 

The three were deep in consultation. Madame had an¬ 
nounced that there was to be a holiday very soon for them 
all, and that she would like very much to have some of them 
act a play on the night of the holiday. She knew that they 
had wished to do this as they had already asked her permis¬ 
sion, and she expected them to be ready with the play in a 
week’s time. She would set the holiday on Wednesday of 
the next week. Only five days remained, and Una and Clythie 
had not been able to find anything that they really liked. The 
play must be simple of course and short, because there was so 
little time and they had only the evenings to rehearse. Una 
had pored over the very limited library at the Chateau, and 
had found no play that she liked, or any story that could be 
turned into one. 

“What shall we do?” asked Clythie despairingly, putting 
on her pretty blue silk Jersey as she spoke. “We must find 


Mehitable 


m 

something and right off, too. Oh, if only Madame would let 
me go into the city, I know I could find something at Bren- 
tano's.” The play was to be in English, a great treat on 
Madame's part. In fact they were to be allowed to speak 
English all day. Madame was very happy about something, 
there was no doubt of that. There was a softened look in 
her eyes as she smiled at the girls. 

Suddenly Una spoke, “Fll ask Mehitable, somehow I’m 
sure she can help us. She has so much imagination and she 
has acted in little plays in Cherryville. Why—she’s written 
them,” she added, standing up and speaking eagerly. “I think 
she wrote one for Barbara and Robin and Johnnie. I’ll go and 
find her.” 

Like a flash she was off, running through the garden and 
calling for Mehitable as she ran. She found her at last, curled 
up in the tree, for Una alone shared the secret of Mehitable’s 
tree. She managed somehow to squeeze herself in by Mehitable 
and put her arm around her. 

‘‘Mehitable Webster,” she said, “where have you been? I 
don’t mean now, but yesterday and the day before? Do you 
really prefer that nice but stupid Gladys to me? You and she 
and Nancy seem always together. Oh, I’ve wanted so to talk 
to you but either you are hiding off by yourself somewhere 
or you’re with them.” 

Mehitable smiled and put her arm around Una’s neck, 
steadying herself against the tree. “Oh, Una, I love to hear 
you say that you wanted me. We are real friends, aren’t we?” 
she asked wistfully. Una looked at her in astonishment. “Why 
of course we are, Mehitable, what do you mean?” 

A week had gone by since that strange day, “le jour des 
morts,” and Mehitable had tried very hard to forget the words 
she had heard in the Long Gallery. She had not seen the 


141 


The Plays the Thing 

lady again except in the distance, since that night, but they 
all knew that she was Phillippe’s mother, Madame’s daughter- 
in-law, that she and Phillippe were to spend part of the winter 
at the Chateau, and that something had brought happiness 
to Madame. Mehitable had only seen her for that moment in 
the garden, but she had not forgotten her words and she felt 
somehow that the mother of Phillippe had not forgotten her. 
It gave her a glad little feeling at her heart. She felt less 
lonely than at any time since she had come to the Chateau. 
She could not have explained why, even to herself. That one 
hard day had somehow helped her to see things differently. 
She had wakened to the fact that she must spend less time in 
seeking new adventures; that she would be far happier to be 
seriously at work. The last few days she had worked at her 
French verbs with real energy and had even translated a half 
page of a simple little story they were trying to read. 
Mademoiselle Gelere had been pleased with her. 

She was glad that Una had come to her. How grateful she 
was that they were friends; she could not be grateful enough 
if Una loved her, it did not so much matter about the others. 
She had not told Una about having seen young Madame in 
the garden, the evening of her arrival, but now she turned 
to her and said, ‘'Oh, Una, I saw Phillippe’s mother first of 
all. I was here when she came,” nodding toward the gate. 
“She came in there. 1 could hear a motor outside and then 
old Jose came and opened the door and while he went to find 
Jacques, she, young Madame, stood there by the path, so near 
me. She looked, oh, so beautiful, so different from anyone 
I’d ever seen. All of a sudden she saw me up here in the tree. 
She was startled a little I think, and she came quite close; 
she asked me if I were a tree nymph or a real little girl. Oh, 
she was so lovely, so kind to me.” 


142 


Mehitable 


“Mehitable, you are always having adventures, it isn’t fair,” 
protested Una. 

Mehitable smiled, ‘This was the nicest adventure of the 
day, it was one I needed very much for I was sort of blue.” 

“Why, whatever was the matter of you, asthore?” asked 
Una. Mehitable did not answer Una's question, and Una was 
so full of the subject of the play that she did not wait for her 
to do so. “Oh, Mehitable, do think of a play for us. You 
know we can have one on the holiday next week, and we 
simply can't find anything. Madame let me look through the 
silly English library here at school, and there's nothing at all. 
Oh, do, dear Mehitable, think of something, some play you 
acted in Cherryville.” 

She put her arm impulsively on her friend's shoulder as 
she spoke, thereby nearly upsetting them both. Mehitable's eyes 
were shining as Una finished speaking. “Oh, Una,” she said, 
“that's just what I have been doing. But I only did it for 
myself, I never dreamed you'd want it here. It was before 
Madame spoke of the play; it was because I—I was sort of 
lonely, you were busy and all—and so I wrote a play for you, 
about you.” 

“About me, Mehitable Webster, what do' you mean?” 

“It’s not really about you, but you are the heroine. It’s an 
Irish play, and it’s very foolish I suppose. I mean of course, 
Una, I don’t really know anything about writing plays, I’ve 
only read a few, this is just a little short one. I don't believe 
it would no. Oh, no,” she added, “no, it never would do, not 
to be acted before Madame. Why it’s just a childish little 
thing and very clumsy too. Only when you spoke of”—^Una 
interrupted her. 

“Mehitable, stop this minute, don't say another word. Get 


143 


The Play's the Thing 

down out of this tree and come with me. We’ll find your 
manuscript—Oh, how important that sounds, doesn’t it ? Oh, 
Mehitable, I knew you’d save the day.” 

They scrambled down from the tree and ran across the 
grass and in at the garden door, Mehitable was very much 
excited, but still protested that it would not do. Una held her - 
firmly by the arm and together they entered the schoolroom 
and found the roll of paper in Mehitable’s desk. Together 
they read it. When she had finished Una was silent for a 
moment and Mehitable regarded her anxiously, fearing that 
she did not like it. Then Una spoke. 

'^It’s lovely,” she said. “Why, it is Irish, Mehitable, how 
could you do it ?” She added slowly, “But you see, I couldn’t 
be Lost Noreen, it wouldn’t do.” 

“Why wouldn’t it do?” demanded Mehitable, turning and 
looking at Una as she spoke. 

Una colored slightly. “Well, you see Clythie must have the 
big part, she must be Lost Noreen.” 

“She shall not, oh, she shall not. I wrote that part for you, 
Una, you shall not have the play unless you are Lost Noreen.” 
Mehitable spoke excitedly, and was indeed quite angry. 

Just then a slight movement caused them both to look 
up. Nancy Graeme, Mehitable’s roommate, was watching 
them. There was the usual quizzical look in her eyes. 

“Well,” she remarked, “you both seem put about.” 

Mehitable was glad to see her, somehow there was some¬ 
thing very dependable about brusque, outspoken Nancy. 
Mehitable turned and looked at Una. “May we tell her?” 
she asked. Una nodded. 

“You see Nancy, I’ve written a little play. I’ve been doing 
it at odd times since I’ve been here at school, since I met Una. 


144 


Mehitable 


It’s an Irish play, and she must take the chief part. She must 
be Lost Noreen, and well, she says she can’t be, she says that 
Clythie must be the heroine.” 

'‘And why, pray?” asked Nancy crisply. Una looked dis¬ 
concerted. 

"She always does,” she said, "she expects to, and she’s so 
good at plays,”’ she added hastily, "she’s acted at home.” 

"And you yourself, one of a large family, you’ve done your 
share of play acting in home theatricals, I’d dare swear,” 
put in Nancy. 

Una looked annoyed. How uncanny Nancy was! So direct 
and to the point. "Well, what if I have?” she demanded rather 
crossly. "Clythie must be Lost Noreen.” 

Mehitable’s fighting spirit was up. "She shall not be Lost 
Noreen,” she said. 

Nancy meanwhile, with Mehitable’s permission, was read¬ 
ing the little play. She looked up when she had finished and 
spoke severely. "You act like babies, both of you,” she ex¬ 
claimed. "Now this play is exactly the thing to have next 
week on the holiday night. It’s not so bad, quite fairish,” she 
added in,her unenthusiastic way. "It must be used,” she went 
on firmly, "one or the other of you must give in, it’s childish 
to act this way. Now, I really think Mehitable is right. You’re 
the one to take the Irish girl’s part, aren’t you? It’s written 
for you, isn’t it? What if Clythie does always have the best, 
seems to me it would be as good for her as Ellerman’s Embro¬ 
cation is said to be for rheumatism, if just once she didn’t 
lake the leading role. Why, it might make her really human. 
Who knows but she’d begin to realize that she isn’t the Venus 
de Milo in a new incarnation!” 

Una and Mehitable both gazed at Nancy as she finished 


145 


The Play^s the Thing 

speaking. Mehitable wanted to laugh, but didn’t, out of re¬ 
spect to Una who was very much put out and had drawn her 
light brows together in a frown. Nancy put the manuscript 
down and turned away. “Fight it out as best you can, but 
mark my words, Una must be Lost Noreen and Queen Qythie 
must take a back seat.” 

She walked off and down the room, out of the window into 
the garden. Janet McPherson, another Scotch girl, was wait¬ 
ing for her and they went arm in arm down the garden path. 
Nancy was silent for a few moments and then she remarked 
to her companion, “I don’t believe in thinking big things about 
anyone, nor do I believe in fancy notions, but to my mind 
Mehitable Webster is going to make us a bit proud to have 
known her one of these days.” 

This from Nancy! If Mehitable could have heard it! In 
the meantime she and Una sat in the schoolroom, gloomily 
silent. Suddenly Mehitable’s face brightened and she turned 
toward Una. “Pm sorry if I seemed cross Una, you know 
you are my friend and I wrote the play for you. It is all 
about an Irish girl, and I really meant her to be Una O’Hara, 
even though in the play she is called Noreen. I should think 
Qythie would be glad to have you do it. She isn’t selfish, 
is she?” 

“She always has the leading part in our plays,” answered 
Una, ignoring Mehitable’s question. 

“Well I’ve thought of something, Una,” went on Mehitable 
eagerly. “You know how beautifully Qythie dances. Oh, it’s 
so lovely to watch her, it is really a poem. Now wouldn’t it be 
splendid for me to work in a dance for her in the play? I 
could, quite easily, and it would give her more of a part; 
she can be your favorite sister, the one that misses you the 


146 


Mehitable 


most. Oh, it will be charming—the dance I mean. Fll work 
over the play to-night after dinner and show it to you before 
prayers. Oh, I do feel that it’s going to be all right, and it will 
make me so very happy if they like my little play well enough 
to use it.” 

Una gave Mehitable a sudden hug and just then the bell 
rang for tea. 

You’re a dear, Mehitable, and I’ve been a pig. Your play 
is simply ‘doughty’ as we say in Ireland, and oh, to think you 
want me to be Noreen! You’ll have to give Clythie more of 
a part and it’s a splendid idea about the dancing, that will 
please her. We’ll, we’ll not worry now until you’ve worked 
it over; come to tea. We’ll let them know about it in the 
morning.” 

At tea the girls, Clythie, Jean, and Tip were eager to know 
if Una had had any help from Mehitable about a play, but 
they refused to tell them anything about it. They all sat to¬ 
gether at a far table by a window leading out tO' the garden. 
Tip was very hungry and grumbled over the tea, saying if 
she had gone with her mother to Cairo, she would now be 
feasting on all sorts of dainties including Turkish Delight, 
which was a prime favorite with her. 

“I don’t think a play will be any fun,” she objected. “A 
minstrel show would be ever sO' much jollier.” 

Clythie sat at the head of the table and poured the tea. She 
wore her pale blue Jersey and her cheeks were flushed pink 
by the crisp autumn air. She was a very splendid looking 
head of the school, and there was an air of authority about 
her as she passed the tea cups to the girls. Una’s bright locks 
were scattered all about her face and there was a long rent 
in her blue jacket. That had happened when she climbed up 
in the tree to talk to Mehitable, but there was something 


The Play's the Thing 147 

about her quite different from the other girls; what was it? 
Mehitable had so often noticed it. 

“She is like a princess,” thought Mehitable. “She does not 
know it but she is like some old time queen, or some long 
ago princess.” Mehitable was some day to see a picture, an 
old painting in a dim room at Garth Hall of a long ago Una 
who had been a princess and who had the same charm of 
face, the same distinction as her little happy-go-lucky 
descendant. 

Clythie saw the rent and shook her head reprovingly at 
Una. “When will you grow up, Una? You’re such a tom¬ 
boy! Why you are nearly sixteen, in three years or so you 
will be out.” 

“Out, yes, mavourneen! Out, yes, in the fine fresh air, thank 
all the blessed powers that be! Out on the moors round 
Garth Hall, out on the blessed, blessed moors with the wind 
whistling by and the ground ‘soft beneath Cuchulain’s feet’.” 
She looked around, smiling at the others, holding a piece of 
bread and treacle in her brown hand. They all laughed at the 
way she had taken Clythie’s remark. 

“You may have all the balls and parties in Chicago that 
you wish, Clythie, I’ll be free.” She leaned toward Mehit¬ 
able as she spoke. “Mehitable and I will be free, we’ll ride 
and breathe in the woods and sea, and you can write, Mehit¬ 
able,” she added. 

Mehitable smiled, but Clythie did not seem any too well 
pleased. She glanced at Mehitable, and Mehitable, remember¬ 
ing the conversation she had heard, felt the color rush to her 
cheeks. Oh, why should she care? Why, just when she was 
feeling so happy could Clythie make her suddenly miserable? 
She looked up at Una and smiled. “It sounds like a fairy 
story, being with you in Ireland, Una,” she said. 


148 


Mehitable 


“Let me come too,” begged Tip. Una smiled at her. 
“Mehitable would like Ireland better than any of you, but you 
are all welcome.” 

“Then wedl all come, Una,” cried Jean as the bell clanged 
from the veranda, and they pushed their chairs back. 

Mehitable found that she could change her play a little, 
giving Clythie more of a part. In fact, “I like the eldest 
sister very much,” she thought as she erased and read over 
again certain parts. It was a very simple little play. Mehitable 
was not even sure that it could be called a real play. As she 
had said to Una, she knew nothing about writing one. It was 
rough and without much of a plot, but it did have a sort of 
charm; she liked it better as she read it over. Somehow, with¬ 
out really intending to, she had created parts that so well 
suited the different girls, Una, Clythie, Tip, and even gentle 
Jean. 

That night after lights were out, Una appeared. Neither 
Mehitable or Nancy were asleep for Mehitable had told Nancy 
something which had somewhat upset her. 

“Tve a role for you in the play, Nancy. You must be the 
old nurse. Oh, you'll be just the one. Really, it's strange the 
way the characters seem to fit in. Oh, I hope the girls will 
want the play, do you think they’ll choose it. Nan?” 

“They have some sense, haven’t they? Yes, they'll want it. 
'But you never mean in this world that you want me to do 
play acting?” 

Nancy sat up in bed, her stiff pigtails standing out each 
side of her odd little face. Just then Una had come in. She 
wore the red cloak that had graced so many good times af 
the Chateau and had done duty in charades at home at Garth 
Hall, in Ireland. She shut the door softly, and came and sat 
on the edge of Mehitable’s bed, clasping her hands about her 


The Play*s the Thing 149 

knees. “I so wanted to know how you feel about the play. 
Will it be all right?” she asked. 

Mehitable told her that she was very well satisfied with it 
and would read it to her in the morning. Una laughed. “Morn¬ 
ing,—why wait until morning?” She dived into her cloak 
pocket as she spoke and drew out her little electric light. 

Mehitable handed her the manuscript from under her pil¬ 
low and Una bent over it. It was difficult reading by the very 
uncertain light, but one grew accustomed to little inconveni¬ 
ences at the Chateau. 

After a while Una laughed softly and danced slowly 
around the room. “Oh, it's going to be such fun, girls,” she 
said. 

“What do you think of Clythie’s part now?” asked 
Mehitable, as Una sat down on the bed again, and Nancy 
hospitably threw over a box of Felix Potin’s biscuits. 

“It is a dear part,” Una answered softly. “I think it’s 
going to be all right, and Clythie will be happy.” 

“Even though she won’t be the center of the stage,” Nancy 
thought this, but she did not say it out loud. 

“Don’t you think that Nancy will be just the one for the 
old nurse?” asked Mehitable. 

She smiled mischievously as she ate her “Paul et Virginie” 
biscuit. These were brown, rather spicy ones, almost like 
cookies, and were great favorites with the Chateau girls. These 
particular ones had been a present to Nancy from a very 
staid elderly lady, a friend of her aunt’s from Glasgow, who 
was having a week’s holiday in Paris, and was to take Nancy 
out the next day for tea. 

“Why of course Nancy must be the nurse, and Tip the 
Brownie. Oh, it will be regularly splendid. I’m so glad you 
wrote it, Mehitable. How did you happen to do it?” 


150 


Mehitable 


Mehitable was silent a moment and then she said, “It was 
when I was sort of homesick one day early in the month, and 
somehow it made me happy to write. I’ve only done a little 
at a time and I didn’t think it was good or that any of you 
would care for it. Now, to think that there is really to be a 
Lost Noreen! To think that perhaps my little play is coming 
true!” 

After lunch the next day Una called Clythie, Jean, and Tip 
together, and with Mehitable they went into one of the class¬ 
rooms and shut the door. Mehitable’s face was pink and her 
eyes very bright. “She almost looks pretty,” thought Una 
fondly as they gathered around the big classroom table. 

“Mehitable has written a play herself since she’s been here 
at school; fancy that. It’s a dear play. I feel sure you’ll all 
love it, only—” Una paused a moment and looked a little 
embarrassed. 

“It’s called ‘Lost Noreen’,” went on Mehitable, as Una 
stopped a moment. “Noreen is Irish and so of course, Una 
must have that part. And then. Tip’s to be the Brownie. Oh, 
it’s so nice the way everyone’s part seems to suit them, that 
is, the way Una and I think they should be. Una is going to 
read the play to you.” 

“I wanted Mehitable to, but she said she’d rather I did it 
because I’m Irish and it’s an Irish play.” Una shook the hair 
out of her eyes, leaned her elbows on the table and read 
aloud to her interested little audience the play of “Lost 
Noreen.” 

When she finished, Clythie spoke impulsively. “Why, what 
a dear play,” she exclaimed. “Of course, you’ll be Noreen, 
Una.” 

“And you’ll be the oldest sister, the one who dances. Will 
you like that part?” asked Mehitable a little anxiously. There 
was a moment’s silence. 


151 


The Play's the Thing 

‘‘Why, yes/' said Gythie, graciously. 

Jean and Tip both spoke impulsively. “It's a dear play, 
Mehitable/' they said almost together. “It’s a dear play and 
you’re a dear to have written it. It’s so Irish, how did you 
ever do it?” asked Jean. “You’ve never been there and yet 
somehow it just seems Irish. 

“It was partly the way Una read it,” explained Mehitable. 

“She’s helped me too with some of the words,” picking up 
her manuscript as she spoke, she turned a page or two and 
read a few sentences out loud. “I wish nurse would fetch the 
tea: Una told me to say ‘fetch.’ And there are several little 
things I didn’t know about. I’m so glad you like it,” she said 
shyly, “and I’m, oh, so happy that you want to act it. Tip must 
be ‘Brownie’ of course. Doesn’t it just suit her? And I thought 
that my roommate, Nancy, would be splendid as the nurse.” 

They all smiled and agreed with her and as Miss Derk 
opened the door, they stood up, Mehitable holding the precious 
manuscript. Miss Derk asked briefly and in her usual sarcastic 
way if they had not heard the lesson bell. Mehitable looked at 
her a little wistfully as they went out. She was so happy just 
then herself and she wished she could share some of her pleas¬ 
ure with the cold English teacher. Several times she had 
wanted to show some little thing she had written to Miss Derk, 
but she was too shy to do so without some encouragement. 
There was no English composition class at the Chateau so that 
she had no occasion to write anything for Miss Derk except 
small exercises about whatever writer they were studying at 
the time. 

Jean stopped short just outside the classroom. “Why!” 
she exclaimed, “what part are you going to take?” 

“Una and I talked that over,” answered Mehitable, “and 
we decided it would be better for me not to act, but to help 
arrange things and direct a little. Perhaps I could do that 


152 


M ehitable 


better than someone else, as I wrote the play. I’ll love looking 
on and would really rather be stage manager than anything 
else.'* 

Mehitable tried to write out the pluperfect tense of the verb 
to love, but her mind would run on other subjects. She kept 
thinking during the next two hours of the play, and fairly 
had to make herself write out the verb. Just as the recreation 
bell sounded, someone spoke her name. 

“Mademoiselle Webster." Mehitable looked up quickly and 
saw funny little Julie, the nurse, standing before her. “I bring 
you a message. Mademoiselle, from Madame de Villiers." 

Madame wanted her! Oh, what had she done? Julie almost 
smiled when she saw the look of consternation on Mehitable’s 
face. “It is the young Madame that wishes to speak with you." 

“The young Madame?” Oh, who could it be—why yes, the 
dear lady she had spoken with in the garden, whom she had 
hoped to see again I 

It all seemed like a dream to Mehitable as she followed Julie 
out of the schoolroom, through the glass veranda to the gar¬ 
den door. Madame de Villiers was waiting for her there, and 
smilingly held out her hand as she came up to her. “Yes, you 
are the little tree girl are you not? Will you walk with me 
in the garden for a few minutes? Fve not been there at all 
since I came, and I know how fond you are of it.” 

Mehitable took her coat from the hook near the door and 
they stepped out into the pale, fast vanishing sunlight. Could 
it be true? She, Mehitable was walking in the garden with 
Phillippe's mother. She felt suddenly very shy, but she was 
so happy that she forgot it after a few moments and they 
were soon talking away like old friends. 

She was so easy to talk to, this mother of Phillippe's, so 
understanding. She seemed to know somehow how one felt 


153 


The Play's the Thing 

without one’s saying very much. She was quite tall and had 
to bend her head as Mehitable talked to her. She wore the 
dark fur about her shoulders, her hair was very pale gold and 
her face was very white. She had a strange look about her 
face and in her gray eyes, a look of one who had suffered 
deeply and at last found happiness, a look of radiant joy, 
very still and deep and quiet. She had not forgotten Mehitable. 
She had remembered the little forlorn figure she had found 
in the tree. The thought warmed Mehitable’s heart. This was 
another beautiful thing to be thankful for. 

Madame de Villiers spoke of Phillippe. ‘Tie feels that you 
are his real friend, and he wants to see you. Things are dif¬ 
ferent now. You will all know Phillippe, I hope. The dark 
days for us are over,” she smiled, and there was something a 
little sad about her smile. “You are too young to know about 
sorrow. Little Tree Girl, but some day, if he likes, Phillippe 
can tell you what he knows of the trouble that came to his 
father and how the sunshine has come back to him and to us 
all now.” 

She turned as she finished speaking and put her hand on 
Mehitable’s shoulder as they walked down a far garden path. 
‘T asked you to walk with me because I wanted to know if 
you are happy now and if I can help you.” She took Mehit¬ 
able’s hand and they walked along hand in hand. 

Mehitable suddenly found herself telling all about that sad, 
gray day, “le jour des morts.” How unreal it seemed with 
the happiness of the present day all about her! The walk with 
this wonderful new friend, the play, Clythie being so kind 
about giving Una the best role, so many happy things. It was 
a far greater comfort than she knew, telling Phillippe’s 
mother about that unhappy day. Some of it still weighed on 
her heart and she had never spoken of it to anyone. She told 


154 


Mehitahle 


it all, first of the disobedience in going to the old wing, of her 
meeting with Phillippe (which adventure his mother already 
knew about from him), then of the day when everything had 
seemed gray and sad, the promenade in the morning, finding 
the forbidden door unlocked and going into the old wing 
again, her meeting with Madame and the punishment she had 
given her. 

Mehitable looked up at her friend as she told her this. 
'^Fm not complaining—I deserved it,” she said. Her com¬ 
panion nodded, but did not speak, and Mehitable went on with 
her story. She told of going off alone to the unused room in 
the Long Gallery and, with burning cheeks, haltingly she told 
of the conversation she had unwittingly overheard. She did 
not say who the girls were. She told of going to the old 
tree in the garden, of weeping, of the little bird that had 
seemed to talk to her. ‘‘And then you came,” she added look¬ 
ing up at her new friend. 

There was silence for a few minutes after Mehitable fin¬ 
ished her little story of the sad day. Then young Madame said 
softly. “The little bird said all the right things to comfort 
and help you dear, but oh, you poor pathetic child,” she ex¬ 
claimed. She had not intended to say this at all. She put her 
arm around Mehitable as she spoke. For a moment she could 
not think of just the comforting thing for her, and could only 
keep a motherly arm around her, as they walked along the 
winding gravel path. 

“I didn’t mean to make it all seem quite so unhappy,” 
Mehitable said. “I’ve been so foolish to let it seem such a 
trouble. It was because it all came together, the sad day and 
the punishment and then—then—hearing the girls talking.” 
She smiled up at her companion. “It all seems so unreal, so 


The Play's the Thing 155 

silly now. This is such a wonderful day, with the play and 
seeing you/' she added shyly. 

‘'We shall be real friends, you, Phillippe, and I. I feel sure 
of that," answered Phillippe's mother. 

Mehitable found herself telling about the play and how Una 
was to be “Lost Noreen." Her new friend listened very eagerly 
as Mehitable talked about it, and when she had finished said, 
“It's a pity that there isn’t a part that a boy could play." 

“But there is!" exclaimed Mehitable. “We can’t make up 
our minds who had better be the one to act him." 

“Why not Phillippe?" asked Madame de Villiers smiling. 

Mehitable stood still in the middle of the path and clasped 
her hands together. “Phillippe,” she said joyfully. “Oh,— 
could he—would he—would Madame allow it? Phillippe, 
what fun!" 

“Yes," answered the other still smiling. “If you all want 
him, I am sure that Phillippe will think it a splendid lark to 
be the boy in ‘Lost Noreen'." 


CHAPTER XVr 


‘^''lost NOREEN''^ 

The next few days flew by and the holiday came before they 
knew it. It rained hard in the morning, and was still drizzling 
when various little bands of girls started to Paris for the after¬ 
noon. Una, Clythie, and the others who were to act in the 
play in the evening,, stayed in and they all had a busy after¬ 
noon. There was a great deal to do, and many rather per¬ 
plexing questions to settle, for the Chateau had no conveni¬ 
ences for private theatricals and they were obliged to stage 
the play in the petite salle a manger, which led from the 
larger room. 

The first and last acts were a schoolroom scene, and the 
middle one in a wood. The salle a manger had a green carpet, 
and this with some leaves scattered over it and the old green 
scene as a background made quite an effective wood setting. 
No one knew where the scene had come from, but an old 
governess, Mademoiselle Merdaille, told them it had been 
there all the twenty years that she had known the Chateau. 
It had been freshly painted by one of the girls not long before, 
and made quite a vivid green effect at the back of the room. 
There were several trees painted on it and a very yellow bird 
was perched on one of the branches. It helped to make quite 
a presentable wood scene, with a real log in one corner and all 
the plants in the school and from Madame’s house put together 
in the other. 

Phillippe had learned his part and had rehearsed with them 
several times. He was there that last afternoon for the dress 


156 


Lost Noreen 


157 


rehearsal and that time they all felt that he was one of them 
and all liked him. He entered into it with almost as much 
enthusiasm as he gave to his riding in the Bois. Indeed this 
was something new, and it was an odd experience to be a part 
of the Chateau life, when before it had been such a closed 
book to him. 

To Mehitable, those few days before the holiday were happy 
beyond words. In spite of all the mishaps, and there were 
several, she enjoyed the fun of the rehearsals. Of course the 
old painted scene would topple over, and there was always 
the fear that it might disgrace them at the final performance, 
but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. Tip was very trying, 
for she was in great spirits, and played all the pranks she 
could, hinting at others she had thought of for the real per¬ 
formance before the school, but she made such a capital 
Brownie that they all forgave her. 

Phillippe and Mehitable had quite a talk together at the 
dress rehearsal, for the “theatrical troupe,” as Tip called them, 
were more or less alone in their glory. Mehitable sat down 
on the log, the wood scene just being over. She was a little 
tired, but smiled cheerfully at Phillippe, as he sat beside her. 

“Aren’t Tip and Una splendid?” he said enthusiastically. 

“And you Mehitable, to think you wrote the play! What 
would they say about it in Cherryville, I wonder! I know 
they’d say you were regularly splendid.” He folded his hands 
about his gray-clad knees and smiled at Mehitable. “I know 
some secrets,” he whispered, “but Pm not going to tell any of 
them so don’t tease to know.” 

“Is your mother in any of them?” asked Mehitable. 

Phillippe nodded. “Mother’s in everything that’s nice, and 
fun,” he said, but he wouldn’t say any more and just then the 
maid brought tea into the big dining room. They all had a 


158 


Mehitable 


merry tea together and were quite elated over the fresh hot 
madelaines that were allowed, because it was a holiday, sponge 
cake made into crisp, fat, shell-like dainties. There were two 
each, and plum jam as well. 

“I wonder what wedl have for refreshments to-night,’' sur¬ 
mised Tip as they sat at tea. 

“The usual thing of course,” answered Una, “an eclair for 
each of us. They’re so good, if only they were bigger.” 

“Perhaps to-night things will be more elaborate,” put in 
Phillippe. “But nothing will ever be as much fun as our mid¬ 
night feast,” he added, eating his second madelaine slowly. 

“Hush,” admonished Clythie, “we’ve never been discovered 
and it’s the one triumph of the year.” 

Clythie was not as pleased as the others about having Phil¬ 
lippe in the play. He did his part well and was quite a little 
gentleman, with all his fun. She admitted that, but he was 
only in short knickerbockers. He wasn’t yet fifteen and he 
always seemed to want to talk to Mehitable or Una about 
riding and horses, or odd old stories about the Chateau, that 
did not interest Clythie. 

“He and Mehitable have some secret in common I do be¬ 
lieve,” she thought, as she saw them whispering and smiling. 

Mehitable had tried several times to talk to him about his 
mother, but somehow the friendship was so new, the walk in 
the garden so recent and the joy in her heart over the new 
friendship with them both, so great, she was shy about speak¬ 
ing of it. 

Her heart beat high with excitement when she peered 
through a hole in the flimsy old curtain that evening and saw 
a tall figure in white with a soft blue scarf about her shoulders 
iSitting beside Madame in the front row, and knew that it was 
the mother of Phillippe, realized that Madame was there to 


Lost Noreen 


159 


see a play that she had written and in which, oh, wonder of 
wonders, Phillippe was going to act. She and Gladys pulled a 
string and the curtain drew open. 

This was the play. 


LOST NOREEN 
Cast of Characters 


Lost Noreen. Vm O'Hara 

Brownie. Theodora Manders {Tip) 

Eldest Sister . Clythie Grey 

Second Sister. Jean Hetherington Macey 

Little Sister. Betty White {youngest Chateau girl) 

Brother . Phillippe de Villiers 

Nurse. Nancy Graeme 

Mother . Etta Slowhurn 


LOST NOREEN 

SCENE I 

{Schoolroom, table covered with hooks, sewing basket, a 
doll on floor by table, several chairs scattered about, fireplace 
in one corner, three girls sit around table, boy kneels on rug 
in front of fire mending a little boat.) 

FIRST SISTER, {throwing down her book). Oh, this tire¬ 
some rainy day! Ink and books and stupid people! 
SECOND SISTER, {looking Up). What is the matter with us 
all to-day? You’ve been so snappy all the afternoon. 
BOY. Stop quarreling girls. There, the boat is mended. How 
I wish that nurse would bring in tea. 










160 Mehitable 

ELDEST SISTER. Nurse! How silly it is to have a nurse, big 
children as we are. Why Fm fourteen. 

BOY. {standing up, goes over and puts the boat on the win¬ 
dow sill). Yes, but then we’ve always had her, and 
mother will never let her go because she knew Noreen. 

LITTLE SISTER, {picking up her doll, leans toward eldest 
sister). Sister, tell about Noreen. 

ELDEST SISTER, {rising). Come over to the fire then. {The 
two go over and sit down on the rug by the dre. Older one 
puts arm around little one). You know the story already. 
Pet. You know how our dear sister Noreen was stolen 
when she was a baby. She was playing in the rose garden. 
Nurse went to fetch something, and when she came back 
Noreen was gone. 

{Boy sits on window sill. Second sister leans her elbow on 
the table listening). 

LITTLE SISTER. Where did she go? 

ELDEST SISTER. We think the fairies took her. The grown-ups 
laugh at this, but still I think it’s true. Oh, Noreen, 
Noreen, can you never come back and tell us? {Bows 
head on clasped hands. Little sister puts her arms around 
her). 

BOY. {jumping up from window sill). One night I dreamed 
she came and told us all about her home in fairyland. It 
was a jolly dream. 

{Door at side opens and nurse enters carrying tray. She 
is short and wears a gingham dress, white apron, cap and 
spectacles. On the tray is a jug of milk, cake and bread, 
and a pot of jam). 

NURSE. How dark it’s grown outside. I think we’ll have a 
storm. Com.e children don’t you see I’m waiting for you 
to clear the table? 



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THE PICNIC AT GLENDALOUGH; ST. KEVIN’S TOWER 






Lost Noreen 


161 


{Girls and hoy take off the school hooks and nurse puts 
down the tea tray. They all help to put the plates around. 
Then sit doim at the table. Nurse goes over and looks 
out of window). 

NURSE. The garden seems all of a quiver. I can see the roses 
tossing in the wind. 

BOY. {helping himself to jam). It's a May night Nursie, and 
they say the fairies come and dance around the flowers. 

SECOND SISTER. It must be such a long way to come to Human 
Land. 

NURSE, {drcmnng down shade). Tush, what nonsense. 
Fairies! {Puts her apron to her eyes.) Oh, Noreen, my 
baby come back to me. Ten years to-day since you went 
away. Come back to us all. Come back. 

{Children sit watching her as curtain goes down.) 

SCENE II 

( Wood in fairyland. Log in center of stage, which is empty. 

Laughter in distance. Girl runs on stage, wears short white 

dress, hair falls about her shoulders, carries a basket of flow¬ 
ers. She dances lightly about the stage, looking back over 

her shoulder.) 

LOST NOREEN. He's lost me. Oh, how cross he will be. If he 
finds me he will have to wish upon his fairy ring, Fm 
sure, and he has only three more wishes for this week. 
{Jumps as a brownie comes running on the stage. He 
wears brown suit, pointed cap. Tosses his head as he 
comes up to her.) 

BROWNIE. Of course Fm here. I only let you think you had 
escaped me. What a game of tag weVe had. Let’s rest 
awhile upon this log. 


162 


Mehitable 


(They both sit down on the log. Tip upsets the basket 
of flowers. Noreen picks up flowers and puts them back 
tenderly.) 

LOST NOREEN. Be gentle with the flowers. 

BROWNIE. Be gentle with the flowers? You know they can¬ 
not die. 

NOREEN. How strange it would be to live in Human Land 
where flowers fade away. How sad! 

BROWNIE. Strange indeed, so strange I never want to have a 
look at it. {Jumps up waving his arms about. Hums a 
tune and dances slowly all about the stage, stops suddenly 
and comes up to where Noreen is sitting on the log.) 

BROWNIE. You and I, Noreen, are the happiest creatures in 
the wood. Even the birds seem to envy us. Jolly little 
grandpa Robin, by the well, told me only yesterday that 
he thought we were the gayest creatures in the wood. 
(He dances again, a little slowly, singing a quaint little 
song.) 

Through the dusky wood, 

By the silver stream. 

We can play the live long day, 

Where pink wild roses gleam. 

(Noreen clasps her hands about her knees and joins in the 
little song.) 

Fireflies are our friends. 

Birds and trees and flowers. 

Through the glen we dance and ^ng, 

^All the fragrant hours. 

NOREEN. (looking off dreamingly). Sometimes I long for 
Human Land, just to see what it is like. Sometimes Tm 
tired of just the wood, even of the dear bird friends. 


Lost Noreen 


163 


(She bends over and touches the flowers.) Even of the 
flowers. 

BROWNIE, (coming up to her, speaks quickly in an alarmed sort 
of way). Surely you do not mean that you wish ever to 
go to Human Land? Why, your heart would soon be 
broken there, just everyday things all the time. Why, do 
you know (comes nearer her and speaks wonderingly) 
they say—old twisted legged Dr. Frog told me, when I 
had supper with him by the brook the other night that in 
Human Land the animals are dumb. They never, never 
speak or sing or dance about. Just fancy that! 

NOREEN. (shaking her head sadly). Fancy that I (she re¬ 
peats) Still, Brownie, I long, and long to go, just to see 
it for myself. To see my sisters and my brother; to play 
with them, and do you know (leans towards him as she 
speaks) sometimes I feel that they are calling for me. 

BROWNIE, (sitting beside her, looks at her anxiously). Noreen, 
Noreen, what are you saying? Why I thought you were 
so gay and glad and were sO' happy, playing all the day. 
Oh, would you go away and leave me ? 

NOREEN. (restlessly). Oh, just for a time, Brownie. Just to 
see them a little, but (sadly) it can never be. 

BROWNIE, (getting up slowly, stands for several seconds with 
his head bowed on his clasped hands. He is very still as 
though thinking deeply. Then he turns arid slowly takes 
off a ring from his finger). We have been real friends, 
and I would rather give you this than anything. Take 
the wishing ring—my godfather's birthday gift to me 
and fly to Human Land. (Speaks sadly.) 

NOREEN. (starting up excitedly). Brownie, dear Brownie! 
Oh—oh, do you mean it? May I really go back just for 


164 


Mehitable 


a wee, wee time? Just to see the dears so far away? You 
see Tm not a fairy, not all of me, and so I want just one 
brief glimpse of those that love me, back there. (She puts 
her arm on Brozmie's shoulder). How good you are! 
And ril come back so soon. We will dance and dance, 
and, who knows, perhaps this year the Man in the Moon 
will think we’re old enough to come to his June Ball. 
Oh, we shall have a merry time, the whole summer 
through, when I come back to Fairyland. 

BROWNIE, (both standing together at front of stage; he speaks 
slozvly, sadly). Yes, yes, perhaps we shall—who knows. 
(He puts the ring on Noreen's finger. She shuts her eyes, 
silently wishing, touches Brownie lightly on the shoulder 
and very slowly walks backward and vanishes at the back 
of the stage). 

BROWNIE, (holding out both his arms, calls after her). 
Noreen, Noreen, come back again! Come back! 

Curtain 

SCENE III 

(Schoolroom again, children sitting about the table eating 

their supper. Two candles are lit giving a little light). 

SECOND SISTER. Pass the jam please. Why, Brother, you’ve 
had three pieces of cake, how greedy you are. 

BROTHER. Don’t preach, but cut me one more slice of bread. 
Rainy days are hungry days for me. 

SECOND SISTER, (smiling). All days are hungry days for you. 
(Cuts him another slice from the loaf and puts it on the 
plate he hands her). 

LITTLE SISTER, (getting Up, gocs ovcT fo the window, pulls 
hack the curtain. Light comes in). See, it’s stopped rain- 


Lost Noreen 165 

ing, and the garden looks like gold. The two other girls 
stand up and go over to the window and look out). 

ELDEST SISTER. Why the whole world seems to be shining. 
See the roses tossing in the evening wind, and all the 
trees whispering. See how they bend toward each other 
just as though they were really talking. You know {She 
turns toward the others and whispers) little Lame Tom 
in the village told me that in fairyland the trees and 
flowers can talk—fancy that. 

LITTLE SISTER, (wonderingly). Fancy that! 

{Brother gets up and comes over to the window. Stands 
looking out with the girls). 

{Door at side opens softly. Noreen enters, wearing same 
white dress, and carrying same basket of flowers. Stands 
in center of room zvatching the others. They turn sud^ 
denly and see her. All start hack in surprise. Little Sister 
takes hand of Eldest Sister. Noreen kneels down, puts 
out arms toward Little Sister.) 

NOREEN. Come, Little Sister, I’m Noreen from Fairyland. 
{Little Sister runs over to her and puts her arms around 
her, smiling hack at the others, who stand staring at 
Noreen in astonishment. Noreen holds out her hands 
toward them). 

NOREEN. Sisters and Brother, I’ve come all the way from 
Fairyland because I wanted you. I’ve wanted you so 
long. I’ve thought of you even in the midst of dancing 
with the pixies on the hill or sailing down the opal 
streams of fairyland. Why even at the party of the Fairy 
Queen, I said to myself, “If only Sisters dear were here 
and Brother too.” 

BROTHER, {coming slowly toward her). How can you know 
us ? Why you were only three when the fairies took you. 


166 Mehifable 

OLDEST SISTER. I always said they stole you away. Oh, 
Noreen, why have you been gone so long, so long? (She 
comes close to Noreen and gazes at her.) 

NOREEN. Because I was very happy where I was. You see 
the Brownie is my chum and we could dance and sing 
and play and we had many friends to visit. 

SECOND SISTER. Won’t you have some tea with us. We were 
at supper. 

(Noreen nods and they all go over and sit down at the 
table. Noreen sits at the head of the table and Brother 
pours her a cup of milk. They all cluster about her as she 
eats and drinks.) 

ELDEST SISTER. Tell US about your friends, Noreen. 

NOREEN (looking off rather dreamily). There was dear old 
Dr. Frog, who lived by the brook, and old Mr. Robin and 
Simon, the dear chipmunk, and all the birds we knew and 
we had such gay times with all of them. 

BROTHER (leaning toward her). It must be jolly to have a 
Brownie for a friend. 

LITTLE SISTER. And do the frogs and robins really talk ? 

NOREEN (putting arms around her). Oh, yes, indeed they do, 
and roses too, and all the flowers. They’ve told me many 
things. Oh, secrets many times. They sing too. Here’s 
a little song that I heard a wood nymph sing. Shall we 
go over to the fire and I’ll sing it for you ? 

(They all go over and sit down on the rug by the fire. 
Noreen in the center.) 

NOREEN (singing softly) : 

In fairyland, in fairyladd, 

We can hear the flowers ^ng, 

The thrushes talk, and, in the wood, 

The pretty bluebells ring. 


Lost Noreen 


167 


In fcdrylandj in fairyland, 

We go fo see the sun, 
mnd chase the moonbeams through the glen, 
^And dance, and laugh with fun. 

We never have to go to bed. 

We drink the fairy dew, 

And have wild berries for our food, 

On dishes silver blue. 

LITTLE SISTER. Don’t you have to do lessons and don’t you 
really go to bed? 

NOREEN {laughing softly). No, Little Sister, but tell me what 
do you do, all of you? (She looks around at them.) 

BIG SISTER. Oh, lessons, and fun too. 

NOREEN. Just to sit here by the fire seems a happy thing. 
You are all together. You’ll miss me when I’m gone. 
Where’s mother? 

ELDEST SISTER. Oh, you mustn’t see mother—not unless you’ll 
stay for always. 

SECOND SISTER. No, no, that would never do, because you see 
if you should go again her heart would break. 

BROTHER. No, she must never know you came unless you stay 
for always here. She could not bear to see you go. 

NOREEN (standing up and clasping her hands). But I must see 
my mother. That’s the realest reason that I came. 

(All shake their heads.) 

ELDEST SISTER. Oh, Noreen, stay with us. Stay, we want you 
so, and we will try to make you happy. We’re not fairy 
children, but we’ll do our best. I will dance for you. 
(Eldest Sister picks up a scarf from a chair and dances. 
When she -finishes she sinks down beside Noreen, who 
clasps her hands.) 


168 Mehitable 

LITTLE SISTER (goifig over to the table, picks up her doll, goes 
back and hands it to Noreen). See, sister, if you’ll 
stay, ril give you darling Susan. 

NOREEN. Oh, how sweet you are, I love you all. 

SECOND SISTER. If you’ll Stay, Noreen, I’ll let you have my 
rainbow sash and coral beads. We’ll have a party in 
the woods and you can be Queen of the May. 

BROTHER {taking his boat from the window seat, comes back 
with it). Here is my boat. It’s a new one. You can have 
it for your own and I will teach you how to sail it, un¬ 
less perhaps you’re too grown up for that, and I will 
teach you how to swim and ride. We’ll gallop over moors 
and heather and, oh, we’ll have such happy times. Oh, 
stay, Noreen. 

ELDEST SISTER. You and I can share my bed and talk at night. 
We’ll tell each other secrets and we’ll have such happy 

dreams. Oh, Noreen, Noreen- 

NOREEN {shaking her head sadly). What would the Brownie 
do without me? 

{Just then a voice is heard calling softly.) 
brownie’s voice. Noreen, Noreen, you said you would come 
back. 

(They all listen. Moonlight comes in through window. 
Suddenly Brownie appears.) 

BROWNIE. You’re listening to the human children and you 
want to stay. Have you forgotten fairyland? {He comes 
to the middle front of stage .) 

NOREEN. No, nO’, I’m coming with you, Brownie. 

CHILDREN {entreatingly). No, Noreen, dear Noreen, stay. 
BROWNIE, {coming close to her and bending toward her). 
Noreen, Lost Noreen, your fairy friends are waiting for 
you. I’ve a message for you from the Man in the Moon. 
You’re coming to his ball. I’ve missed you so, and all 



Lost Noreen 169 

the birds and flowers have asked for you. Come, Noreen, 
come. 

{He takes her hand and she goes with him slozvly 
toward the window, looking hack and sadly throwing 
kisses at the children, who stretch their arms toward 
her.) 

NOREEN. I wish that I could stay. I love you so and could be 
happy with you. 

BROWNIE. You’d rather be where flowers speak and birds and 
beasts befriend you, where all the days are beautiful and 
there is only pleasure. I gave the fairy ring to you for 
friendship’s sake. Will you not come with me? 

{They reach the window. The door opens and Nurse 
appears, calls out.) 

NURSE. Noreen, Noreen, my baby, sweet Noreen. 

{Noreen hesitates. Brownie still holds her arm, whisper- 
ing). 

BROWNIE. Come. 

{Nurse moves to one side of door. Mother enters. Wears 
white dress. Cries out and, kneeling down, throws out 
her arms. When Brownie sees her he lets go of Noreen's 
arm. Turns and buries his face hopelessly in his arms 
and goes swiftly toward window, alone. Noreen stands 
still for a moment and then with a cry rushes into her 
mother's arms. Looks hack at window where Brownie 
is poised on sill ready for flight. He looks hack over 
his shoulder.) 

NOREEN {still kneeling with her mother's arms about her, the 
children and Nurse clustered around her). Brownie 
dear, I cannot, cannot go with you, I must stay here. I’ve 
found my mother now. y 

BROWNIE {sadly). Yes, you must stay, Noreen. You’ll 4iever 
come again to Fairyland. When mothers call, there is 


170 


Mehitable 


no power of ours that has a charm, for mothers are more 
wonderful than fairies. Think of me sometimes in the 
moonlight. Goodbye—Goodbye. 

{Curtain falls and Brownie disappears, leaving the group 
by the fire looking after him.) 

There was loud and sincere applause from the little audi¬ 
ence when the curtain was drawn on the last act, and suddenly 
a voice, a very English voice, called softly, “Author.’’ The 
name was repeated and soon everyone was calling it. Una 
pushed Mehitable toward the curtain. 

“They mean you,” she whispered. “You must go out and 
bow.” 

Mehitable shrank back, but Una still pushed her gently 
forward and she found herself standing alone in front of the 
curtain, facing the big dining room and the many faces up¬ 
turned to her. The presence of Madame made her so shy that 
she could think of no words to say, and could only bow, a 
funny little bow that they had been taught to make in the 
little school at Cherryville before they had recited their 
“pieces” on Friday afternoons. Madame’s face was the only 
one she seemed to see, even the pale beautiful English face of 
Phillippe’s mother was lost to her. Madame’s face stared up 
at her, Madame, whom she did not know at all. Madame’s 
eagle gaze, a little severe always, but now so softened, puz¬ 
zled, kindly. 

One of the secrets Phillippe knew must have been the 
refreshments, for they were so wonderful as to take away 
the breath for a moment of everyone. Ice cream! Oh, 
fascinating French ices. 

“Rumpelmeyer’s, yes,” whispered Tip to Mehitable, as they 
sat at the center table together with Una on the other side, and 


Lost Noreen 


171 


Clythie and Jean and the others just across from them. 

Yes, the ices were wonderful indeed. They were pink and 
green and gold, and they were fashioned into all sorts of odd 
shapes, flowers, and cupids and fruits. They were so pretty, 
so exquisite, that the more artistic really hesitated about eat¬ 
ing theirs, but when they began to melt a little, gave that as 
an excuse for doing so. 

‘What in the world does this mean?” whispered Clythie 
across to Una. “In all our years here there has never been 
anything like this before.” 

The cakes, too, were wonders to behold. Cherry tartlets 
topped with cream, pistache eclairs with Marrons glacees in 
the center, long eclairs of rose color icing with candied cher¬ 
ries covering them. The pupils at the Chateau d’Estes were 
breathless with surprise, or rather the old ones were, those 
who knew some of Madame’s decided ideas about the dan¬ 
gers of eating sweets, and such sweets. 

“This is better than fairyland,” remarked Tip, selecting a 
very plump marron cream eclair. 

She still wore her Brownie dress and her eyes peered very 
mischievously out from under the pointed cap. The girls 
were proud of Tip, for someway the Brownie part had suited 
her exactly and there had been much pathos in her render¬ 
ing of it. 

“Who would ever have thought she could do it so well, that 
she really could be serious ?” said Una in a low voice to Me- 
hitable, under cover of some laughter as Tip and Phillippe 
bandied words back and forth. He sat at his grandmother’s 
left hand and young Madame at her right, and they were at 
the same table as the young actors of “Lost Noreen.” 

“Tip is fine,” Mehitable whispered back. 

She was so happy that everyone seemed splendid to her 


172 


Mehitable 


then, even Clythie. At that moment, Madame stood up and 
motioned hastily for them all to sit, for the school, as was their 
custom, was about to stand with her. Madame looked very 
stately in her black velvet gown. She spoke in English, as it 
was a holiday and they were all allowed to do so. 

‘‘I am glad to* be back with you, glad to be better in health 
from my sojourn at Vichy. I shall now, at once, try to make 
the acquaintance of the new girls and renew my acquaint¬ 
ance with the old,^' as she said this she glanced rather pier¬ 
cingly at Una, Clythie, and Tip. “I trust that in my absence 
you respected still my authority. And now,” she went on, ‘T 
wish to tell you that this is my grandson’s birthday, and it 
is because of this very great day, to us, that he is giving you 
the little treat.” Madame paused. So far her speech had been 
exactly as were all her English speeches, very cut and dried, 
for she could not express herself in that language though she 
understood it well. When she spoke again, however, her 
voice sounded different to them all. ‘This is a very happy day 
for me, for us all, and I am glad that my grandson can have 
this ending to what is his happiest birthday.” 

That was all she said, but the applause was great, and the 
girls looked at her for a moment with new eyes. The real 
Madame had for a moment shown herself. 

They all looked at Phillippe and Tip, in a spirit of mischief, 
called “Speech,” waving her hand toward Phillippe. He had 
turned quite red under his tan. He bit his lip and—^yes, he 
looked very sulky, so cross, in fact, that his eyebrows came 
together in a frown, and a very dogged look settled about his 
lips. For, in spite of his French name and his French grand¬ 
mother, Phillippe was English, so English that the thought 
of making a speech, of the sudden publicity into which he was 
thrown, was very terrible to him. Still the cry of “Speech” 


Lost Noreen 


173 


went on. His grandmother looked at him expectantly, but it 
was not until he met his mother’s gaze, very grave and ex¬ 
pectant too, that he rose to his feet. He met Tip’s eyes as she 
smiled in delight at his confusion, and he smiled, suddenly 
forgot his shyness, and looked about at the sea of faces in the 
big room. 

‘‘Why, I can’t make a speech,” he said. 'T never did in my 
life. I don’t know how, but I’ll say this. I’ve not had such a 
happy birthday in a long time. Grandmother is right. The 
best part of it has been Mehitable’s play, and I say three cheers 
for Mehitable Webster—hip-hip-hurrah.” 

The ending of his speech was so unexpected that for an 
instant there was silence and then such a cheer as went up. 
Mehitable looked down at her plate, the color was high in her 
cheeks and her eyes were very bright. The author of ‘‘Lost 
Noreen” could only smile her thanks. 


CHAPTER XVII 
mehitable's diary 

November 30. Eve been too busy, until to-day, to write in 
you, dear diary. After the holiday we all had to work very 
hard. Mademoiselle Gelere gave us long lists of words to 
learn—and, oh, the verbs—^but I’m not going to write of any¬ 
thing as stupid as verbs in my birthday diary. 

Thanksgiving was such a funny day, just like any other, 
except that you couldn’t help but know that way over in your 
own country it was a rejoicing sort of day with most all the 
people that have not seen each other for a long time gathering 
together. We even had mutton for dinner that night instead 
of the nice chicken and salad we have sometimes. Clythie asked 
Madame if we could speak English in the evening, but she 
said *'No.” She is always very strict after a holiday, they say. 
I felt sort of homesick, at dinnertime especially. I was think¬ 
ing of Cherryville all the time, of all the real Thanksgiving 
dinners we’ve had. Barbara and her father. Miss Prince, the 
dressmaker, and old Major Stubbs, who knew Grandpa, al¬ 
ways had dinner with us. I thought of the turkey and squash, 
and the mince pies, but most of all I thought of the after- 
dinner time when Robin and Johnnie and the Bentlys came 
over and we popped corn over the coals in the sitting room. 
Old Major Stubbs would sing his funny song about the Gal¬ 
loping Major—^must stop, bell ringing. 

December i. When I woke up yesterday morning I was so 
glad to welcome in December, for it came over me like a flash 
that now I would be able to go to Paris on the half holidays. 

174 


175 


Mehitable's Diary 

I think that Madame felt a little sorry that she punished me 
quite so hard, for she spoke very kindly to me after the play 
and called me “ma cherie.” How pretty that is, though 
Mignon is lovelier. I love to think of that evening. It was 
such a happy time. Fm not sure which scene of the play I 
liked best. Noreen and Brownie in the wood, or no, the last, 
just the very last, where Noreen almost goes back to fairy¬ 
land, and then the mother comes. 

December 4 . I could have written on for ages the other day, 
was just in the mood, but of course, the “cloche” sounded, it 
always does. I was writing about Lost Noreen when I was 
last interrupted and I think Fll go on for a bit, though I ought 
to be putting down the every day school happenings as I told 
Barbie I would. Nothing really seems “every day” here, 
though. IFs all so interesting. (I don’t like the word inter¬ 
esting, wish someone would invent a new one.) I think the 
mother in Lost Noreen must have been like Madame—young 
Madame of course, Phillippe’s wonderful mother. She is the 
realest mother in the world. I can see it in her eyes. Does 
Phillippe know that? I suppose he does, but he has always 
had her. 

December 6 . I had to stop the last time because Miss Derk 
came up and asked me what I was doing. Before I could an¬ 
swer her, she said I must have the history exercise ready by 
evening and then went on to someone else. Oh, Fm glad she 
didn’t ask again. What if she had taken you away from me, 
dear diary! Oh, that would have been the worst thing that 
could happen. It would hurt so much, for you are part of 
home. Who knows, perhaps my grandchildren or Barbara’s, 
will read you—will read of all the things their dear old 
grandmother did so long ago in France. 

December 8 . Oh, how can I write all I have to say. Fve no 


176 


M chit able 


time for half of it, but will start right in anyway. Yesterday 
at tea, Madame’s maid appeared in the doorway of the din¬ 
ing room and remarked that Mademoiselle Webster and 
Mademoiselle O’Hara were wanted by Madame. For a min¬ 
ute we had that sinking sort of feeling that seems to come over 
you when you are summoned to Madame. We looked at each 
other and wondered what we had done. There were several 
little things that we might be called for. Well, we followed 
Mathilde upstairs, knocked on Madame^s door and when we 
heard her ''Entrez” we opened the door and went in. It was 
the first time I’d been there since the night I came with Frau- 
lein. Madame sat at her desk and looked up in that quick, 
sharp way she has of doing. She motioned us to sit down and 
went on writing for a few minutes. They weren’t very com¬ 
fortable ones for Una and me. Then she looked up and said. 
Oh, it is something so wonderful! She said that her daughter- 
in-law, who had been away at a house party near Limoges for 
a week, had returned. We knew that she had been away, for 
Phillippe had had Sunday dinner at school and had told us 
so. Madame went on to say that her daughter-in-law wished 
us to go to the opera with her and Phillippe, and, as she was 
busy with friends, had sent us a note. “I do not greatly ap¬ 
prove,” Madame said to us. ‘Tt is not well to pick out a girl 
here and there for an especial treat, but it is my daughter-in- 
law’s wish and I have consented. Here is the note, you are 
to go to-morrow night. See that you conduct yourselves prop¬ 
erly, and remember that such favors do not come often.” Those 
were her very words. We only said, ‘‘Merci, Madame,” over 
and over again and it wasn’t until we were outside the door 
that we hugged each other and fairly danced around, though 
we had to do this very quietly. We read the note then. It’s 
quite short and I think I’ll copy it right in you, diary. 


177 


Mehitable's Diary 

‘‘Dear both of you! Phillippe and I want Mehitable and 
‘Lost Noreen’ to go to see Hansel and Gretel with us to¬ 
morrow night, so we can all be together in fairyland 
again. Joan Margaret de Villiers.” 

Oh, to-night, will you ever, ever come! Can I wait! Can I 
sit through an hour of “le grammaire!” 

Next afternoon. It’s over! We’ve been to fairyland with 
Hansel and Gretel. I’ll begin and tell about it from the 
time w’e went upstairs early to get ready. I’d been thinking 
about the cherry and white dress and made up my mind that 
I’d just forget all about it, and not let it spoil my fun. When 
I was ready I looked in the glass and tried to imagine that 
I was all in white and that I had a very pale green sash around 
my waist. I suppose it’s foolish to care. Anyway I had such 
a good time afterward that I forgot all about it. Una and I 
had dinner a little earlier than usual and that seemed so 
strange. We were neither of us hungry and didn’t touch the 
pudding, though it was that nice souffle kind. 

Phillippe and his mother were waiting for us in the taxi 
and we had the happiest ride into Paris. The snow was falling 
outside, and Paris seemed different with the snow covering it. 
It seemed so quiet and I loved it more than ever. I sat next 
to young Madame. She put her arm around me part of the 
time and I just tried to think I was really going to my first 
opera with my own mother. I thought of Barbara, too, and 
the boys. What would Robin think of the opera, I wondered. 

Because of the crowds we had to go very slowly, and we 
hardly realized that our taxi had stopped until a gendarme 
opened the door. He spoke to Phillippe and so quickly that I 
did not understand what he said. Phillippe questioned him 
for a minute and then turned and spoke to us in English. “He 
says there is such a crowd ahead, a procession for some for- 


178 


Mehitable 


eign royalties, that we’ll have to get out.” He helped his 
mother, and Una and I jumped out before he could turn 
around for us. We found ourselves in the midst of a crowd 
of people who all seemed to be talking at once. Some were 
screaming and they began suddenly to push close around us as 
the crowd ahead was shoved back. Just for a few minutes 
it was very dreadful, being closed in in that way and feeling 
it all coming nearer and nearer. I was frightened and had to 
remember very hard about Grandfather, but the others were 
so quiet and almost serene, that I didn’t like to say anything. 
Phillippe’s mother was very pale, but she gave me such a 
cheering smile and kept her arm around me all the time, and 
Una! Why Una was laughing, her eyes shone and she whis¬ 
pered to Phillippe, “It’s something like what the Donnybrook 
fair used to be, I fancy I” Is it because Una is Irish that danger 
seems somehow to put her in the wildest spirits? 

Women began to scream as the soldiers ahead of us shouted 
orders, and a dark looking man suddenly took a little girl up 
in his arms and held her on his shoulder away from the 
crowd. Ahead of us we could see flashing lights and hear 
music. “It’s the torchlight procession,” said Phillippe, turn¬ 
ing and looking at me. “Don’t mind it, Mehitable,” he added, 
“it won’t last long and I’ll take care of you.” He had the 
same dogged look about his mouth that had been there when 
we had all called for him to make a speech at his birthday sup¬ 
per, only he was very quiet and unexcited. “He will make 
a good soldier,” I thought, as he spoke to me. 

Suddenly there was a screaming louder than before. The 
crowd swerved the other way. There was a space through for 
an instant and somehow we found ourselves on the sidewalk. 
I heard Phillippe pounding on a glass window back of us and 
saying to an old man who half opened the door for us, “Let us 


179 


Mehitable^s Diary 

in at once. My father is Major de Villiers.” The old man 
still protested and Phillippe said quietly again, “I tell you 
that my father is Major de Villiers. Does that mean noth¬ 
ing to you ? In the name of the Republic, I say, let us in.’’ 

The crowd pressed close. Someone near us fell to the 
ground. There were more screams. Still Phillippe stood there 
quietly pleading with, or rather commanding, the old man 
in the shop. Suddenly he opened the door a little more and 
we stepped inside. It was a funny little shop. We hardly no¬ 
ticed it, I think, and were there for only a few moments, for as 
quickly as the crowd had come, it seemed to disappear. When 
the procession had finally passed, the congestion was relieved 
at once, for the people followed it. “It is that way in France,” 
explained Phillippe as we sat there in the dark shop. His 
mother looked at him, a smile just touched her lips. She was 
still very pale and had her arm about me as I sat beside her 
on the bench by the door. Her cloak fell away from her 
shoulders and showed a diamond chain that sparkled at her 
throat. There was a strange look in her eyes as she smiled 
at Phillippe. Was it because of what he said about his 
father ? “There is a secret about him,” I thought, and yet Phil¬ 
lippe spoke to the old shop man as though he must know 
about it. Could it be something that had happened in the 
great world outside the Chateau? 

We were late, of course, at the opera, but not very, because 
for some reason it was late in starting. We sat in a box and 
that was such fun. It had red furniture and there was a sofa 
in one corner. Una and Phillippe sat in front and his mother 
and I just behind them. We were a little in the shadow and I 
saw that Madame closed here eyes as though she were tired. 
The music came to us softly, sadly, it seemed trying to tell 
about all the fairy tales in the world. And the opera! I’d 


180 


Mehitable 


never seen anything like it before. Fd never dreamed about 
what an opera would be like, for I couldn’t someway—and 
never could I have dreamed the music. I have always loved 
Hansel and Gretel, and it was so dear to see them there in 
the wood—to hear the cuckoo song and then when they fell 
asleep under the tree, to see the angels come to watch over 
them. I felt the tears in my eyes and when they began to run 
down my cheeks, Madame gave me her handkerchief to wipe 
them away, because I couldn’t find mine. Fm going to call 
her '‘mother” when I write in you, dear diary. I think of her 
as “mother,” and I don’t believe she would mind. Shall we 
ever talk together again as we did in the garden, I wonder? 
She is the loveliest thing to think about, and it cannot hurt 
anyone for me to think of her as mother. 

December lo. I wrote so long yesterday that the bell for 
prayers rang while I was in the middle of a sentence. Now I 
must go on and tell more about Hansel and Gretel, but I 
can’t quite tell all my thoughts about it. All night afterward, 
I could hear the cuckoo song echoing through the woods, the 
melody of it seemed to sing and sing to me. 

December 14. How the days fly by! We went Christmas 
shopping yesterday and it seemed to be the real holiday time 
already. I couldn’t do any shopping, but it was great fun 
looking in the windows and imagining what I would buy if I 
could. Aunt Comfort would not let me have the little allow¬ 
ance that Mrs. Lindsay offered to give me. I suppose she 
is right, for I am accepting so much from her. But it would 
be so interesting to have just a little money to spend. 

I saw several things that would be so splendid for differ¬ 
ent friends for Christmas. Well, I sent some very pretty 
cards to Aunt Comfort and the boys and Barbara and of 


Mehitahle's Diary 181 

course, to dear Desire and Silas. I wonder what Defsire 
would think of Paris! 

December 27. Christmas has come and gone, and Pve so 
much to write about. Oh, diary, how I love you! All the time 
Pm doing things, I keep thinking “how splendid this will be 
to put in my diary.” Think how Fll love to read it to Barbie 
some day. I want to write first about the days just before 
Christmas. They were such busy, happy ones. We used to 
sew every evening after dinner, and it was all quite mysteri¬ 
ous, because we would not let each other see what we were 
doing. A great many of the English girls went home for the 
two weeks’ vacation, but Una stayed, Tip, Clythie and Gladys, 
and about a dozen others. Nancy went to the old aunties in 
Scotland and a few days before she left she asked me if I’d go 
with her. “We don’t have any foolishness at our Christmas, 
none at all. We ask the minister to dinner and we eat the plum 
pudding that Aunt Janet is famous for. It’s all very quiet, but 
you’re welcome enough to share it if you want to come home 
with me.” When Nancy said this to me, I had the strangest 
feeling, a sort of gratitude, and more than that, the dreamlike 
feeling I’ve had so often, since coming to the Chateau. A 
friend was asking me to come and visit her in Scotland, to 
spend Christmas in her own home—a home where you could 
see the “auld brig o’ Doone” from the front windows—a home 
so near to the haunted church that Burns had funny Tam o’ 
Shanter see, that you could drive there any afternoon in a 
pony cart! Six months before I’d never seen her, yet she was 
asking me now to come home with her! “Oh, Nancy,” I said, 
“if only I could!” Of course I couldn’t, but it made me so 
happy that she seemed to want me. “Oh, well, some day I dare 
say you’ll find yourself up around our way,” she answered. 


182 


Mehitable 


Oh, dear, if s so nice to think it’s vacation, and that I can write 
on for as long as I like, and know that no one will interrupt 
me. 

New Year's Eve. Someone did interrupt. It was Tip, say¬ 
ing they were all going to sing songs up in the practise rooms 
and didn’t I want to come, too. So I just left off before tell¬ 
ing about Christmas, and went with her. The day before 
Christmas we were busy trimming the tree. It was such a 
funny little tree, so small we had to put it on top of a table, 
but it was the very prettiest one I’ve ever seen. We decided 
to have it all white, and when it was finished late that after¬ 
noon and the others were getting ready for dinner, Una and I 
'went to the schoolroom door and looked in at it. It stood all 
by itself in a shado'v^^y corner. The white and silver trim¬ 
mings glistening through the dusk and the little white angel 
with outstretched arms, smiled at us. Una and I didn’t say 
anything, we only stood quietly looking at it and I think it 
was the happiest moment of all the Christmas time. That 
night at prayers we sang ‘‘Holy Night.” Oh, it was so beau¬ 
tiful. All of us there together. I mean, those of us that were 
left. We sat near the front so that we would feel more to¬ 
gether. The schoolroom had as Christmassy a look as it could 
have, with garlands of green over the doors and windows and 
clusters of holly everywhere. Madame read about the birth 
of the baby Jesus from the French Testament and it sounded 
so beautiful in French, I was so glad I could understand it. 

Phillippe and his mother were there, sitting near the desk, 
and “Mother” was so beautiful in white with the dark fur 
about her. I’ve only seen her twice to speak to since the opera. 
Oh, I want to be with her and hear her talk to me. I feel so 
safe, so happy when I am near her. She doesn’t know how 


Mehitable's Diary 183 

much I want her for a mother. If she did, would she be glad, 
I wonder? 

That night we had great fun hanging up our stockings on 
the door knobs outside our rooms. We only did it on the spur 
of the moment and didn’t really expect to have them filled. 
Una slept in my room that night. We asked Madame if she 
might, as it was Christmas Eve and Madame said yes. We 
stayed awake for a long time, and Una told me of Christmas 
in Ireland. She told me of the carols sung under their win¬ 
dows by the village children. It was the first Christmas that 
she had not spent at home, but this year her brother from In¬ 
dia was coming in the spring and it had seemed best for her 
to wait and come home then. It is a very rough crossing over 
the Irish Channel in the middle of winter, and so she told me 
it was the most sensible thing to do, just for her to stay at 
the Chateau for Christmas. 

*T’m not sensible enough to like it myself, Mehitable,” she 
said to me, as we were talking, Christmas Eve. “Think what 
it means to me that you have stayed,” I answered. 

Christmas was almost as strange a day as Thanksgiving, 
for all the time I kept thinking of home—what were they all 
doing? Had my cards reached them? Did Barbara’s father 
give her the material for the blue and white dress that she 
had wanted so long? Would they come over for dinner with 
Aunt Comfort or would they have their cousins, the Mathew 
family, with them, and would funny old Mattie Jennings 
come to help Barbie cook the dinner ? In the midst of the fun, 
all day these thoughts would come to me. We did find some¬ 
thing in our stockings. Una and I each found a bulky pack¬ 
age of Edinburgh Rock that Nancy had directed Gladys to 
give us, and beside there was a silk muffler for me from 


184 


Mehitable 


Nancy, a very pretty blue one that her cousin had knitted for 
her and which she said was too ‘‘fancy” for her. Clythie came 
into our room early Christmas morning. She wore a lovely 
rose-colored kimona and she had a big box of Huylers that 
had been sent to her from New York. 

Breakfast was just the same as usual. After prayers some 
of us sang carols upstairs in one of the practise rooms, until 
eleven, when we all came down to the tree. Clythie and Una 
and I put the presents around the table, darkened the room a 
little, lighted the candles and then called to the others to come 
in. Madame was there and all the governesses, but Phillippe 
and his mother were with friends and would not be back un¬ 
til evening. Madame spoke to us just before we started to 
dance around the tree. “You are invited to come and have 
dinner with me,” she announced. “All of you are to come 
to my apartments to-night.” 

We were almost too excited to speak, at least I was, and I 
know Una was too. “Such a thing has never happened be¬ 
fore,” she whispered to me. “WeVe never gone to her— 
never! Fancy dinner in the old wing. What a lark!” Then we 
all joined hands and danced around the tree, singing: 

*'Mon beau sapin, mon beau sapin 
Comme faime fa verduref* 

There were a great many surprises for me under the tree, 
for a big package had come for me from home and Fd not 
known anything about it. It had been kept for me and I had 
the fun of opening it myself. The writing on the outside was 
Aunt Comfort’s, but when I’d taken off the paper covering 
and opened the box, I found there were presents from every¬ 
one. Desire had sent me a small loaf of her best fruit cake. It 
was the first thing I discovered. I broke a little piece right 
off and tasted it. My, but it was good. I could just feel home 


185 


MehitabWs Diary 

all around me, as I ate it. Auntie sent me a pair of kid gloves 
and a new white flannel petticoat. Barbie’s present was a 
lovely boudoir cap. She had written me that all the girls 
were wearing them. She made this one herself. It was pale 
blue silk under white muslin and it had a blue rosette on one 
side. Una admired it so much and we both tried it on right 
there in the midst of the presents. Robin and Johnnie sent 
met a big box of the gum drops we were always so fond of. 
That was the heaviest thing in the package because they were 
in a tin box. On the top of them was a Christmas card—^not 
an ordinary one that you buy. This was one they had made. 
It was a kodak picture of Barbie and Lucy Graves and Robin 
and Erastus Peters, just about to slide down North Hill on 
the big toboggan. Oh, I was so glad to have it. I liked it the 
best of anything they sent. It was pasted on red cardboard 
and they had printed “Merry Christmas’" under it in white 
ink. Gladys gave me a big box of Marquis Chocolates. I’m 
glad I made her the handkerchief. 

Una was so interested in my things. Her box from home 
hadn’t arrived yet, and she said she didn’t believe it would 
before New Year’s. She didn’t seem to mind a bit. Said 
her family never got around to things like that until the last 
minute. She was quite used to it, and never bothered about 
it. We passed the gum drops and everyone seemed to like 
them, even Miss Derk said they were splendid. Una liked the 
sewing apron I made for her. It was white lawn and had 
pink cross stitches at the corners and a pocket edged wth pink. 
Una doesn’t sew very much, but it’s one of the few things I 
know how to make. She said it would be simply fine to wear 
when they make toffee at home on rainy days. Clythie gave 
Una a lovely handkerchief case filled witli handkerchiefs with 
Una O’Hara embroidered on each one. Una was very pleased, 


186 


Mehitable 


but she told me she always lost her handkerchiefs so quickly 
it really wasn’t worth while to have nice ones. 

The afternoon passed by and at half-past five we began to 
dress for the dinner at Madame’s. We were all so excited 
at the thought of going over to the old wing. Someway I was 
so happy, I didn’t think half as much about the check silk as 
usual. Una came in before I’d finished dressing and said she 
was sorry her present for me hadn’t come, because I could 
have worn it to Madame’s dinner. She said she had ordered it 
from home and that it would be with her own things when 
her box came. At first she wouldn’t tell me what it was, but 
on the way to the old wing she relented and said it was a Tara 
brooch. She said I’d have to wait and see what it was like 
for she wouldn’t tell me any more. 

Madame was waiting for us just inside the door of—what 
room do you suppose, diary? Why the great ballroom, the 
farthest one, near the stairway leading to the room where I 
first say Phillippe. Some rugs were laid about on the floor 
and there was a huge fire in the stone fireplace. Madame 
looked so smiling and nice, not a bit scarey, as she generally 
does. There were fifteen of us, and she spoke a few minutes 
to each of us. She asked me if I’d written any more plays 
and I said, '‘No, but I’ve written a poem about the little white 
tree.” I was sorry I’d spoken of it a minute after, be¬ 
cause she said, "Well, enfant, you must say it for us to-night.” 
She forgot about having me do it, and I was so glad. 

Dinner was served upstairs, but Madame said we could 
come down and dance in the ballroom afterward if we 
wished to. She said she thought we could hear the piano from 
the room at the top of the stairs if the door was open. Then 
we all went upstairs to dinner. It was served in a large room 
off the one where I first met Phillippe, and when we went into 


187 


Mehitable's Diary 

the room, young Madame was standing there by the big fire¬ 
place. She wore white and had a long lavender shawl around 
her and there was a little wreath of amethysts in her hair. 
She talked to me a few minutes as we were waiting for din¬ 
ner. ‘‘Mehitable,’' she said, “will you do something for me? 
You told me that time when you were in the tree the first 
time I saw you,’’ she smiled at me when she said this, “that 
you had written a poem about the lights of Paris. Will you 
let me see it and any others that you’ve written ?” Oh, I was 
so happy when she said that. All of a sudden I felt—^Oh, I 
don’t know—I felt as though I could really write, as though 
I wanted to go on and on trying to anyway. Of course, I told 
her that I would, and I guess she knew how happy she had 
made me. 

Then we all went in to dinner. I sat between Una and Tip 
and we had great fun. Such a very splendid dinner, turkey with 
mashed chestnuts and first of all a wonderful sort of patty 
filled with mushrooms and other good things. We had ice 
cream and funny little pies for dessert, but the pies weren’t at 
all like ours at home, they were rather like pastry cookies 
with raisins in them. Everyone had a “cracker,” as Una called 
them. We opened them and inside were paper caps. Mine was 
blue and Una’s was green, which, as she is Irish, was just the 
thing. Tip had such a funny one that looked like a rooster’s 
head, and she crowed so loud once that I’m sure Madame must 
have heard her though she didn’t say a word. 

After dinner we all sang songs for awhile, around the big 
piano. Young Madame played for us and we sang anything 
we liked. It was great fun. Clythie has a beautiful voice and 
young Madame told her so. Oh, but Clythie was pleased. She 
blushed like everything. When the others were dancing, Phil- 
lippe asked me if I didn’t want to walk through some of the 


188 


Mehitable 


rooms. He doesn’t like to dance and as we walked along he 
told me he liked girls, but not quite so many all at once. He 
said he had something he wanted to tell me. 

All the rooms were brightly lighted, but they looked very 
old, sort of ghostlike just the same, as we wandered through 
them. Phillippe looked so much happier than when I’d last 
seen him. This is what he wanted to tell me. It was about 
his father and it was very confidential, but I know you’ll keep 
it all a secret, diary. There isn’t very much to tell because 
Phillippe didn’t know a great deal about it all himself. His 
father is a soldier and he let people think that he had done 
something wrong, in order to shield a very dear friend. I 
don’t know what the wrong thing was, but anyway it was a 
very sad and dreadful time for them all, for a great many 
people believed it and it was a disgrace. Of course, Madame, 
his mother, his wife and some close friends never believed him 
guilty for a minute, but the world did believe it. 

Madame took great care, Phillippe told me, when he was 
with her in Paris, not to let him go about alone, or to be 
where he could hear gossip. It was not until the whole matter 
had been cleared up that he really knew very much about it. 
Finally the friend grew very ill and confessed that he was 
guilty, before he died, and now, of course, everyone knows the 
truth and they are all happy again. I think Phillippe’s father 
must be a wonderful man. Oh, how dear ''mother” must have 
suffered. How glad, how glad I am that she is happy again. 

Phillippe showed me the picture of Rose Mathilde. She is 
not as pretty in the picture as I thought she would be. How 
I’d like to see one of funny little brave Mademoiselle Toto. 

Just before we went back to the school part that night, 
Phillippe’s mother drew me over by the fireplace and put a 
package, quite a heavy one, into my hands. "From Phillippe 


189 


Mehitablets Diary 

and me,” she said as she kissed me goodnight. I was so ex¬ 
cited I could hardly wait to see what it could be. Una and I 
opened it together. She was so sweet and dear about it, not 
a bit cross that it wasn’t for her too-. I don’t think I could 
have been so lovely about it. The present was a set of small 
books of poems, Keats, Tennyson, Browning, and Words¬ 
worth. They were bound in white leather and edged with 
gilt. Una and I admired them so long, reading bits from 
them as we sat together on my bed that we had not thought 
of undressing when Mademoiselle Gelere came to put out 
the lights. She was not a bit cross, but went away and gave 
us ten minutes longer. Everyone was sort of Qiristmassy 
that night. 

School begins Wednesday. Oh, dear, but the holidays have 
been such happy ones! 


CHAPTER XVIII 

HANSEL AND GRETEL 

Phillippe went south to the Riviera with his tutor in Jan¬ 
uary. He seemed very eager to go, and talked a great deal 
about swimming and water polo. “I shall live in the sea, 
except when Pm having lessons with Briggs,” he confided to 
Mehitable before he went. 

The midwinter tests came late in January and sleet and wind 
held sway. Everyone at the Chateau longed for spring. The 
first week in February there was a heavy snow storm and the 
garden was a thing of beauty. ‘‘Oh for some winter fun,” 
sighed Tip, at tea one snowy day, spreading some treacle on 
a thick slice of bread and butter. 

“It would make us all feel so much better if we could 
coast down hill a few times on my sled. Whirlwind,” said 
Mehitable. “Now for a Cherryville story,” cried Una. “Tell 
about Cherryville, Mehitable, please.” 

“I was only thinking of our fun Saturday afternoons, 
coasting down Bailey’s hill. The stin on the snow! Oh, but 
darkness came so soon.” 

“Do you think spring is ever really coming again, Una?” 
asked Mehitable a few days later, as they stood watching the 
sleet melt into the gray earth of the garden. 

“It will surely come in Ireland, it never really leaves Ireland. 
Oh, Mehitable, don’t you think something will happen so that 
you can go to Garth Hall for the Spring Holidays?” Mehitable 
shook her head, smiling wistfully. “Let’s pretend that I’m 
going, anyway,” she answered. 


190 


Hansel and Gretel 


191 


That same evening Mehitable spent in the old wing with 
young Madame. Una had been invited also, but it was the 
evening for her swimming lesson, so Mehitable went alone. 
They roasted chestnuts over the fire in the little sitting room 
with the faded red hangings where Mehitable had first seen 
Phillippe. He had sent the chestnuts, a great bag of them '‘To 
the Author of ‘Lost Noreen’ and all the Cast.” While they 
toasted them, his mother told Mehitable about the blue and 
gold days in the Riviera, the opal-tinted sea and the splendid 
drives along the beach. She told about her childhood home in 
England, of heather moors, of riding fast against the wind 
across the scented downs. 

“I would rather see a moor than almost anything,” 
Mehitable exclaimed. 

“You surely shall some day, Little Tree Girl, you shall see 
our moor, Phil’s and mine. We will all three have such happy 
times in England.” She grew serious suddenly and looked at 
Mehitable for a few minutes in silence, then said gently, 
“Mehitable, I want to talk to you of something very serious.” 
Mehitable looked up from the chestnuts she was trying to 
balance on the edge of the fire shovel so that they could have 
just the right glow from the coals. 

“Oh Madame de Villiers, what is it?” she exclaimed. She 
came and sat on a stool at Madame’s feet and looked up at 
her a little anxiously. Young Madame smiled at her reassur¬ 
ingly. “It’s not really serious. It’s a very wonderful thing. 
Only you must see it for yourself.” 

“See it for myself,” Mehitable repeated. Then, turning, 
she smiled up at her friend entreatingly. “Oh, tell me please.” 

“It is about your future, Mehitable,” the other answered. 
“It is about your writing.” She paused a moment, looking 
earnestly at Mehitable. “You have a great gift. I have felt 


192 


Mehitable 


it since you first showed me the little lyric that you wrote 
about the lights of Paris. All the things that you have shown 
me are full of beauty. You are a song maker, do you realize 
that? You can help to make songs for the world.’’ 

Mehitable’s eyes widened with excitement. She could only 
look up into the other’s face with an almost bewildered incredu¬ 
lous gaze. Could it be true? Oh, she had wondered herself if 
it could be, but to have it put into words! 

‘‘Do you think so—do you believe I—I have that gift?” 
she asked at last. 

“I have just told you that I do. I am asking you now what 
you are going to do about it.” 

“To do about it,” Mehitable repeated, still gazing up at her 
friend. “Why I don’t know,” she said softly, “I hadn’t 
thought. I suppose I’ll have to be a teacher. That’s what 
Aunt Comfort expects. I don’t want to be one, but I must 
earn my living, that’s why I’m here.” 

Tears came suddenly to Mehitable’s eyes and she turned 
her head away and looked into the fire. Would this wonderful 
new friend understand? Could she realize at all how different 
the life in Cherr)rville was—how differently Aunt Comfort 
and those that made up her life at home would feel about 
things ? 

Madame did understand, for she said softly after a moment: 
“There is plenty of time, isn’t there, to make plans for your 
future. Things will work out right for you, I am sure of that. 
It is only because I care so much, because I am so interested 
that I speak of it to you. I want you to realize yourself that 
you have the gift and that it is a very precious one. After all 
you are only a child,” she said, “and you will be learning all 
the time, reading and living, most of all loving.” 

Mehitable’s eyes glowed. She felt a sort of singing at her 


H mis el and Gref el 


193 


heart, as she would have called it. She bent over the chest¬ 
nuts, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the fire and the 
glad excitement that she felt. Oh, the happiness, that Phil- 
lippe’s mother believed in her, believed that she could be a 
''maker of songs.” How beautiful that sounded! 

The next day, Mehitable, in a very confidential moment, told 
Una what young Madame had said about her being a maker 
of songs. She could not have Jold anyone else, but Una would 
understand. They were walking together on one of their first 
promenades since the bad weather. The snow had melted 
and though it was only early February, there was a hint of 
spring in the air. It was only a brief hint, they all felt that, 
and so longed to make the most of it. 

"Mehitable,” said Una solemnly, "some day you’ll be 
famous, I feel it in my bones. You’ll be the famous Mehitable 
Webster and I shall say, 'Oh, yes, she is my great friend, 
we were at school together 1’ ” 

They both laughed at this and hurried a little to catch up 
with the others. Mademoiselle Du Bois, a young governess, 
who was much less strict than most, was their chaperone that 
day and did not call to them to keep up as the others would 
have been sure to do. They were soon deep in conversation 
again. Ahead of them, Tip’s crimson tam-o’shanter bobbed up 
and down, and now and then her laugh rang out through the 
wood, for they were walking in the Bois. 

"It was wonderful to hear her say it, it made it seem so 
real,” Mehitable was saying as they walked slowly along the 
brown pathway. "I can’t see what the future will be at all. 
Why I’ve always expected to teach school in Cherryville. Do 
you suppose that I could do' something else ?” 

Una laughed and then suggested eagerly. "You and I 


194 


M ehitable 


jmight have a flat in London together. Some cousins of mine 
did that once and they had the greatest fun. You could write 
and I—oh, I'd ride in the park and work among the poor.’^ 

Mehitable laughed at Una’s choice of occupations and then 
stopped suddenly. “Why where in the world are we?” 

They both stood in the path and then looked at each other 
in surprise. Then they called out. There was no answer; 
just the beat of hoofs nearby on the riding path. The girls and 
Mademoiselle Du Bois were nowhere in sight. They had 
evidently turned down a side path, one of the many cross 
turnings that wind through the Bois. Una called again, very 
loudly this time, but again there was only the echo of her own 
voice. The two girls gazed at each other in alarm and then 
Una threw back her head and laughed. 

“Oh, Mehitable, you are always wanting adventures. Now 
you’re really having one. You and I are lost in the Bois, do 
you realize what that means? The Bois is a very large place 
and a very strange place.” She began to dance lightly along 
the path, looking back over her shoulder and smiling mis- 
chieviously at Mehitable. 

Of course, someone of the other little groups of girls with 
a governess might come along. They waited about, for a few 
minutes and then as no one came, they walked on a little 
uncertainly, not knowing which way to turn. As a matter of 
fact. Mademoiselle Du Bois had brought them farther than 
they generally came. One of the girls had persuaded her to 
take a new path and that was the reason that they were puzzled 
to find the way out. 

It had seemed very funny, quite an adventure at first. It 
still was an adventure, but it was one that boded trouble in 
the end. It was Una who more than Mehitable realized the 


Hansel and Gretel 195 

gravity of the situation. Madame’s horror—Madame’s 
temper. 

‘‘It will be l^rdty serious for us when we reach the Chateau, 
but we might as well have as much fun out of it as we can on 
our way there,” she said to Mehitable as they walked along 
what seemed a very deserted path indeed. 

“I’m sure we should have gone the other way, Una,*^ 
Mehitable answered. “Why this doesn’t seem like any path 
we’ve ever taken before.” 

“It isn’t, I should think it’s off the main road. We must 
manage somehow to find that and then we’ll be all right,” 
murmured Una reflectively. “We’re Hansel and Gretel lost 
in the wood.” 

“Una—listen, I can almost hear the cuckoo song!” Mehit¬ 
able said, as they stood uncertainly in the middle of the path. 
A moment later Una gave a cry. “See, Mehitable, if we’re 
Hansel and Gretel there’s the witch’s house.” 

She waved her hand in the direction of a little brown house 
hardly more than a hut, that showed through the bare trees 
quite near them. Mehitable peered through the branches. 

“What an odd little house, and so like the little hut in 
Hansel and Gretel. We might inquire the way there,” Una 
said, daringly. Mehitable nodded. 

“Oh, could we? What fun!” she exclaimed, and so together 
they went up the little winding gravel path that led from the 
wider one where they had been walking. 

They waited for several minutes after Una knocked, and 
not without some excitement. This was a great adventure for 
two chateau girls, and then the odd little house was so like 
the wee one in the opera. 

They heard slow steps coming toward the door and Una 


196 


Mehitable 


whispereo, “We’ll see the frilled cap ot the witch in a minute.” 

The door opened and someone looked out at them through 
a pair of very large horn spectacles. An old woman who, as 
Mehitable said, afterwards, might easily have been taken for 
a witch if it hadn’t been for her smile, which was very unwitch¬ 
like. “Tiens,” she muttered. “What is this—what is this?” 

Una, who spoke French more fluently than Mehitable, 
answered that they were school girls out for a walk; that they 
had become separated from the rest of their party and wanted 
to know how to find their way to the nearest entrance. 

The funny old woman listened with her head on one side 
and pointed in the opposite direction from that from which 
the girls had come. “You had better go that way. It will 
bring you out near the upper end of the Avenue du Bois.” 

“So far from the Porte Maillot and from the Chateau!” 
exclaimed Una. 

“Come in, come, for a little minute and you shall have a 
cake each of you.” 

The old woman had turned away, but said, looking back 
over her shoulder, “My cakes are very good. In summer many 
come here to eat them and sit at little tables that I put outside.” 

“Cakes! Just like the witch! Isn’t it fun,” whispered 
Mehitable, as they followed her into a room at the end of the 
little hallway. 

It was a small room and along one whole side was a cook 
stove, on the other side a long table. At the little window 
there was a frilled curtain, white ships on a blue gingham 
background. 

The little old woman did not wear a frilled cap like the witch 
in Hansel and Gretel, but she had funny little white side curls 
and very black eyes. There was a tray of small brown tempting 
looking cakes on the table and she told the girls to help them- 


Hansel and Gretel 


197 


selves. She had asked them to have the cakes because of the 
very engaging way that Una had spoken to her and because 
of Mehitable's smile. Also, “They might come back and bring 
their friends for tea in the summer,” she thought, for old 
Madame Parte had an eye to business as well as a kind heart. 

“I do not, as a rule, make these cakes in winter,” she 
explained, as they nibbled delightedly at the toothsome dainties. 
“It is only when I have a special order from a patron in Paris 
that I bake at this time of the year, but my son is coming to 
pay me a visit to-day, and I made these especially for him. 
There are plenty. Take what you will and welcome. I, too, 
w^as a school girl once myself.” 

“Do you live here all winter?” asked Mehitable, inter¬ 
estedly, finishing her last bit of cake. As their hostess had 
begged them to take more, she put a second one in her pocket 
for Tip, and Una saved hers for Clythie and Jean. Una stopped 
to pat a large maltese cat that came toward her from the 
cushion by the stove. 

“Yes, all winter,” the woman answered Mehitable. “But it 
is in the spring and summer that I am busy. Then I set my 
little tables out in front and many people come to drink my 
chocolate and eat my cakes. I am near the riding path and 
the motor drive is not far away, so the gay parties of friends 
come here for a cake.’’ 

The girls could have listened a long time to Madame Parte, 
whom they found very interesting, but time was flying and 
it came over them suddenly that they were lost and that the 
next thing for them to do was to find their way back to the 
Chateau as soon as possible. As a matter of fact they had been 
in the cottage only a few minutes, but they knew that they must 
not stay longer and thanked their odd hostess very earnestly 
for her kindness, promising to come again if possible. They 


198 


Mehitable 


each shook hands with Madame Parte at her door and 
followed her directions as to reaching the nearest entrance, 
retracing their steps and finding themselves at last nearing the 
riding path which they crossed, keeping to their left until at 
last the entrance came in sight and they passed out onto the 
Boulevarde. 

For a moment they stood there in silence, a little dazed, for 
they had come from the dim shadowy stillness of the wood 
directly out into the brilliance of the Bois de Bologne. They 
were alone in Paris. The excitement, the thrill of it—alone 
in Paris! 

“We must find a telephone booth and let Madame know that 
we are all right,’’ said Mehitable, beginning to feel that this 
part of the adventure was not very pleasant. They were both 
of them very much in awe of Madame, and, as Una said, 
“Nothing like this has ever happened to a Chateau girl before.’* 

It was a great adventure of course, and some day they 
would thoroughly enjoy talking it over, telling the others 
about the weird little house in the wood and the kind little 
old woman who looked a little like a witch, but just now the 
immediate present loomed before them. 

As they stood there for a moment, a little uncertainly, 
Mehitable could not help thinking how splendid it would be to 
tell about in Cherryville. Crowds pushed past them, motors 
flashed by, somewhere off the avenue a band was playing, the 
sun shone and there was the faint thought of spring in the 
air. A gendarme stood near them and Una suggested that 
they go up and ask him the way to the nearest telephone 
booth. As she was speaking, Mehitable clutched her arm. 

“Why,” she breathed, “It’s-it’s Miss Meadows!” A 

taxi had stopped at their corner because of traffic ahead and 



Hansel and Gretel 


199 


there sitting* alone in it was Miss Meadows. She recognized 
Mehitable almost at the same moment and cried out in sur-. 
prise, “Why Mehitable, Mehitable Webster.’' 

They came up to the side of the taxi and then jumped in 
beside Miss Meadows. She was so surprised at first that she 
could only repeat over and over, “Why, Mehitable, where 
did you come from?” They explained their situation and as 
the taxi started slowly along the Boulevarde, Miss Meadows 
listened to their account of being lost, of the old woman and 
the cakes, of Madame’s probable anguish at their not arriv¬ 
ing with the others. There was a twinkle in Miss Meadows’ 
eyes as she listened. She herself had only arrived that morn¬ 
ing and had come out for a little air and to^ see some of the 
old Paris sights before lunch. She was just as practical and 
cheerful as ever and Mehitable felt a great load off her mind. 
Miss Meadows would know what tO' do. 

They stopped at a hotel and Miss Meadows went in and 
phoned to Madame. She was gone for several minutes and 
when she returned there was still a twinkle in her eyes. Yes, 
she had talked with Madame; they were to come home at 
once; she had promised to bring them in the taxi. Yes, 
Madame had worried. “I did the best I could for you, chil¬ 
dren,” she went on smiling at them as they drove toward the 
Porte Maillot. “After all, there is no harm done, you didn’t 
really mean to cause them all this trouble.” She patted Mehit- 
able’s knee as she spoke and looked with interest at Una. 

“It is good to see my traveling companion again, and what 
good times we shall have, now that I have come. You remem¬ 
ber how we talked of going to Rumplemeyers’ that day on the 
English train? Oh, we’ll have some splendid times together 
and your friend must come with you.” 


200 


Mehitable 


Mehitable and Una both smiled at this, but rather faintly. 
They felt that the chance of their having any gay outings with 
Miss Meadows was very small indeed. 

'T’m afraid that Madame will never let us,’^ Mehitable 
answered. “We’d so love to, but—well—after to-day and all, 
she would hardly let us go. I’ve looked forward to it so long,” 
she added a little forlornly. 

Una cried, “Oh, Madame must let us go with you Miss 
Meadows. It’s real splendid of you to ask me too—^but, you 
don’t know Madame. I don’t believe that there is a mortal on 
earth who could persuade her to do something she didn’t wish 

to.” 

Miss Meadows refused to take such a forlorn view of things 
and for the rest of the ride, told the girls of her travels in 
Italy, of much that she had been doing since she bade Mehit¬ 
able goodbye on the Calais boat. Quite soon they reached 
the Chateau gate, which was opened for them by old Jose. 
Martha, the very severe parlor maid, opened the front door. 
How odd it seemed to come in that way. After a few minutes 
they heard the rustle of Madame’s gown and she came into 
the room. She greeted Miss Meadows cordially and listened 
to the cheery account of her meeting with them. Oh, how 
innocent and unimportant it all sounded when Miss Meadows 
told about it. If only Madame would see it that way. 

When Miss Meadows finished, Madame turned and looked 
at them and their hearts sank, for the look was very stern. 
“And you, Mesdemoiselles, what have you to say for your- ^ 
selves? What possible excuse have you for such conduct?” 
They had none. What could they say? What they did say 
was that they had been so engrossed in talking together that 
they had let the others slip away from them without their 
noticing it. They had been unable to find the right path and 
had asked the way at a little house in the wood. They did not 


Hansel and Gref el 


201 

1 

mention having gone inside and eating the cakes; and, fortu¬ 
nately, the possibility of their having done sO' did not enter 
Madame's head, so she did^not ask questions about it. 

Madame went on talking quite calmly and politely with 
Miss Meadows and said nothing more to the girls who sat 
quietly listening, as Madame had not dismissed them. It was 
Miss Meadows who managed the situation, the girls never 
knew just how. Perhaps it was her direct American way of 
expressing things, her cordial interest in the school, her appre¬ 
ciation of Mehitable as a traveling companion. At any rate 
there was no doubt that Madame began to soften, and when 
the bell for luncheon rang she told them quite kindly, to go 
^ to make ready for lunch. In the next breath she asked Miss 
Meadows to remain for that meal and together they went up 
to Madame’s own apartments. 

“Why, Madame didn’t seem as angry as I’d expected,” said 
Mehitabfe to Una, as they partook of hashed mutton and 
carrots. 

Una nodded. “I think it’s because of several reasons. 
Mehitable. You see she’s so annoyed with Mademoiselle Du 
Bois that she hasn’t very much crossness left over for us.” 

“With Mademoiselle Du Bois? What do you mean?” asked 
Mehitable. 

“Madame doesn’t like her. I’m sure of that. Mademoiselle 
Du Bois is very easy you know, she should never have let 
us go so far into the Bois. None of the other governesses 
would have allowed it. Do you know, Mehitable,” Una added, 
“I think Miss Meadows helped a good deal, don’t you remem¬ 
ber what she said about your,being such a splendid traveling 
companion and how dependable you were?” 

“I wonder if Madame will let us go to Paris with her,” 
said Mehitable excitedly. 

She was soon to know, for before Miss Meadows left, having 

1 


202 


Mehitable 


had lunch with Madame and visited the schoolrooms, she saw 
Mehitable again and told her the happy news that Madame had 
promised to allow her to go into Paris for the whole day on 
Saturday. Una perhaps could come also another time, but on 
Saturday Mehitable was to come alone. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE WHITE DRESS 

It rained hard Saturday morning and Mehitable looked 
rather dubiously at her big cotton umbrella with the greenish 
horn handle. If only she had a small dark silk one with a plain 
silver handle and “M. W.” engraved upon it. This did not 
trouble her for long and it was a very smiling, happy girl that 
jumped into the taxi beside Miss Meadows. What a good time 
they had talking on their way into Paris. There was so much 
for the two traveling companions to say, so many questions for 
Miss Meadows to ask. How strange it seemed to Mehitable. 
When she had been with Miss Meadows before, she had known 
nothing of the Chateau, had never seen Una or Nancy or Tip, 
never wandered through the old wing or met Phillippe and 
his mother. So much had happened since she said goodbye 
to Miss Meadows on the wind-swept deck of the Calais boat. 

They had lunch at an odd little restaurant just off the Place 
de rOpera. It was a favorite haunt of Miss Meadows. She 
spoke cordially to the fat little woman who waited on them, 
whom she had known three years before when she had been 
in Paris. How Mehitable enjoyed it! This was really Paris. 
She was lunching in a very real French cafe and was eating a 
French omelet and some of the long French bread that she 
had always wanted to taste. During the meal Miss Meadows 
asked questions about the Chateau life, but Mehitable felt 
someway that it was a little difficult to make Miss Meadows 
see just how very interesting it all was. 

Miss Meadows stood for the world, the big world outside 


203 


204 


Mehitable 


the Giateau. She was brisk and quick and practical. After 
they finished their omelet and salad Mehitable found that if 
she wished she could have some American ice cream soda 
and so ordered it at once. Miss Meadows had some raisin 
pudding for which the cafe was noted and then they bade 
goodbye to the smiling little proprietress and stepped out into 
the cold damp air. Mehitable had wondered what they would 
do next and if Miss Meadows should ask her what she would 
like to do, what she would choose. Miss Meadows, however, 
seemed to know very decidedly what she wished to do, for 
a while at least. 

"‘Mehitable,” she said, “I want to take you now to buy your 
Christmas presents.” 

“My what?” asked Mehitable in astonishment. 

Miss Meadows smiled as she hailed a bus and they drove 
on slowly, sitting side by side in a corner of the bus. It was 
quite crowded and Mehitable enjoyed watching the people. 
This was seeing Paris in a new way. 

“Yes, dear,” Miss Meadows was saying, “I so wanted to 
send you something, but was in Florence ill with influenza and 
so could only manage to send the card. Mrs. Lindsay also 
wrote me to see that you had a Christmas present from her 
when I came to Paris.” 

Mehitable was silent from sheer amazement. She had never 
dreamed of this, Christmas presents in February. 

They drove to the Bon Marche and Mehitable was a little 
dazed by the big shop, its shimmer of satins and silks, its 
polite smiling attendants. They went to the costume depart¬ 
ment and as they waited for a young woman in black with 
very light hair to attend them. Miss Meadows said to Mehit¬ 
able, “Mrs. Lindsay wants her present to you to be a dress, a 


The White Dress 205 

very pretty one for your very best. You must choose it your¬ 
self so as to have exactly what you most want.’' 

Mehitable could hardly believe her ears. She looked at 
Miss Meadows in astonishment. ‘‘Really pick out my own 
dress, a new best one?” she asked. 

Miss Meadows nodded, “Certainly.” 

“What would Aunt Comfort say!” Mehitable could not 
help but speak this thought out loud. 

“I don’t think she could possibly object to your having 
Christmas presents, even if they are a little late in the season,” 
answered Miss Meadows. “Mrs. Lindsay is very much inter¬ 
ested in you and wants you to have some of the pretty things 
she is so fond of herself.” 

“I would rather have a white dress than anything,” said 
Mehitable, and soon they were looking at some very dainty 
costumes. Mehitable knew almost at once the one she wanted 
most. She tried it on, standing before a long mirror and it 
fitted exactly, except that it was too long. She had to stand 
for a little while so that the interested young girl who had 
been summoned to shorten it, could pin it all around the hem. 

“It’s the prettiest one of all, Mehitable. You have splendid 
judgment,” exclaimed Miss Meadows. “It is so very simple,” 
she added. “It suits you perfectly.” 

Mehitable’s eyes were shining and her cheeks grew even 
pinker with delight when Miss Meadows said in her decided 
way, “You must have a sash to go with it. What color would 
you like?” 

Mehitable looked up earnestly at her friend. “Oh, Miss 
Meadows, green please—^very pale green,” she said. 

Some sashes were sent for and Mehitable chose the palest 
green of all, a soft leaf green. They tied it in shimmering 


206 


Mehitable 


folds about her waist and the tall attendant in black exclaimedi 
'‘Mademoiselle est tres jolie’' raising her hands in approval 

The dress was to be sent out to the chateau in a day or so; 
They chose some dainty white petticoats to wear with it, and 
then went to the shoe department, where Mehitable was fitted 
to a pair of patent leather pumps; then to the stocking counter, 
where Miss Meadows purshased some black silk stockings to 
go with the pumps. When Mehitable protested. Miss Mead¬ 
ows explained. 

“You see, Mehitable, you must have everything to harmon¬ 
ize. It is all a part of Mrs. Lindsay’s present to you. If you 
are to have the white dress, you must have the pretty things 
that go with it. Mrs. Lindsay wants you to have a new spring 
suit, a hat or two, and some thin dresses for summer.” 

Mehitable shook her head, smiling up bravely at Miss 
Meadows. They had come out into the sharp bright air and 
were on their way to Rumplemeyer’s for tea. “Just what you 
said we would do,” Mehitable had remarked with a smile of 
pleasure when Miss Meadows suggested it. 

They hailed a taxi and it was not until they were cozily 
seated at a little table in a corner of the great crowded room 
that they went on with their conversation about the clothes. 
They were waiting for their order to be served and Mehit¬ 
able was enjoying every minute, watching the many groups 
of people, men and women who seemed to have nothing to do 
but laugh and enjoy themselves. Most of all she was inter¬ 
ested in some children who sat at a table near them. Such 
pretty beautifully dressed children with very dark eyes. A 
boy and two little girls who wore velvet dresses and plumed 
hats, and had black curls falling about their shoulders. They 
were all very serious about what cakes they should choose, and 
were not inclined to take the suggestions of their mother and 


The White Dress 


207 


the bonne who were with them. A large plate of cakes had 
been set before them and both Miss Meadows and Mehitable 
smiled to see their solemn faces as they chose their favorites. 

It was Mehitable who brought up the subject again of the 
spring clothes. She had been worrying about it since Miss 
Meadows had mentioned it. “I haven’t told you how happy ^ 
I am about the white dress, Miss Meadows. I—I don’t know 
how to thank you and Mrs. Lindsay,” she said as they sat 
waiting for their tea. 

Miss Meadows smiled at her in her cheery way. “You 
chose exactly the right dress, dear. I’m delighted with it. Iri 
a few days we must do some more spring shopping.” 

A maid appeared bringing in their tea and far a while they 
were busy choosing their cakes from the big plate in front 
of them, and seeing that their tea was just the way they liked 
it. Then Mehitable looked up at Miss Meadows a little tim¬ 
idly for she hated to seem ungrateful. 

“You see,” she said, “it’s different about the white dress. 
It’s a sort of dream dress. But Aunt Comfort is so far away 
and she trusts me. She doesn’t want Mrs. Lindsay to give me 
my clothes. Oh, I would so love to have the pretty things, but 
Aunt Comfort is so far away and she trusts me,” she repeated. 

“I see,” said Miss Meadows gently in a voice Mehitable had 
never heard her use. 

“Aunt Comfort is sending me a spring suit. Miss Prince, 
our dressmaker at home, is making it. Auntie told me to 
expect a package early in April.” Mehitable smiled at Miss 
Meadows and then looked down suddenly at her plate to hide 
the sudden tears that came to her eyes. It would have been 
so enchanting to go spring shopping with Miss Meadows to 
buy dainty clothes such as the other girls wore. 

They had a delightful tea and laughed together over their 


208 


Mehitable 


basket tea in the train traveling through England. Mehitable 
told Miss Meadows of Una’s invitation to go home with her 
for the spring holidays. '‘It’s only fun, our planning it, for 
of course I couldn’t go.” 

Miss Meadows did not reply, she only smiled a little mys¬ 
teriously as she glanced at the bill which the maid handed her 
and counted out the money. 

"I want you to know Nancy next to Una,” she said. 

Miss Meadows’ hotel was within a few blocks of the shop 
and they enjoyed the walk down the rue de Rivoli. Although 
it was only late in February, the flower stands at the corners 
bloomed with violets and roses, from the Riviera. It seemed 
as though Miss Meadows spoke of one unexpected thing after 
another, for as they turned down the quaint, quiet, homey sort 
of street where was Miss Meadows’ hotel, she said: 

“I hear, Mehitable, that you have written a play which was 
acted at the school. Why did you not tell me about it? she 
said, grasping Mehitable’s arm firmly, as was her habit when 
they walked along together. 

Mehitable looked up at her. Who could have told her? 
Oh, Madame of course. She blushed a little as she answered. 
"I was going to tell you, but we had so many other things to 
talk about,” she said simply. She had not felt that Miss 
Meadows would be interested in the play, she seemed so prac¬ 
tical. But she was mistaken, for Miss Meadows was inter¬ 
ested. As they were going up in the lift of the hotel, she 
patted Mehitable’s shoulder. “I never dreamed that I trav¬ 
eled all the way from America with a real poet and writer,” 
she said. 

Mehitable laughed. Miss Meadows was joking of course, 
but how kind she was, how jolly! 

The windows of Miss Meadows’ room looked down onto 


The White Dress 


209 

the quiet little rue Carre. Mehitable stood looking out far 
off to where the Seine wound itself like a streak of gray ribbon 
through the city. Lights had sprung up everywhere, and a 
few faint stars shone in the early twilight. 

‘‘Madame said you must surely be back for dinner. She 
was very positive about it so we must start very soon,” 
announced Miss Meadows as she bent over a trunk near her 
bed. She put several packages out on the bed, and Mehitable 
came and stood near her. 

“Do you want to open them now, or wait until youVe back 
at school ?” asked Miss Meadows with a twinkle in her eye. 

“Open them?” exclaimed Mehitable. “Are—are they all 
for me?” 

Miss Meadows nodded. 

“Oh, Fd rather open them now. Why, I couldn’t wait,” 
said Mehitable excitedly. 

She lifted one of them and felt of it. “This is like Christ¬ 
mas and birthdays and everything all together,” she said. 

She undid the paper and gave a little cry of pleasure as 
she held up a soft garment of blue silk, a very faint gray blue, 
with butterflies of a deeper blue embroidered on it. It was a 
kimona, a very simple, dainty one, and there were little blue 
felt slippers to go with it. Mehitable looked up at her friend 
with a radiant face. 

“A beautiful kimona and the darling slippers—Oh!” 

“Well,” remarked Miss Meadows in her practical way, 
“when I was a girl at school, I found out that kimonas played 
a large part in school life. I remember that I had a blue one 
something like this and it was a great favorite with me. 
Hurry child, look at the others for we must be off.” 

The second package proved to be a little leather writing 
case, and on the cover in gilt letters were stamped the initials 


Mehitable 


210 

'"M. W.’’ ^‘Oh, Miss Meadows, it's like the diary. It's like 
my dear diary. Oh, I'm so happy. I don't see why you are 
so good to me." 

She gave Miss Meadows a hug as she spoke and then opened 
the last package. It was a small Brownie Kodak. 

thought you would like to take pictures of the girls," 
explained Miss Meadows. 

This was the best of all, this last present. ‘Why I can have 
pictures now of everything," said Mehitable, wonderingly. 
“Of the girls of course, and the garden and the Chateau." 

Miss Meadows did not give her very much time to think 
about it then. She phoned for a taxi and they were soon 
making their slow way toward Neuilly. It was the hour 
when the crowds were great and the traffic heavy. Mehitable 
sat back in the taxi and looked out at the brilliant scene, 
people, motors, lighted shop windows, the gray blue of the 
sky above and the charm and wonder of Paris all about them. 
She tried a little shyly to thank Miss Meadows on the way 
back, but she only laughed in her cheery way and patted 
Mehitable's shoulder. 

“Bless your heart, my dear, I enjoyed choosing the things 
and wondering what you’d like just as much as you'll enjoy 
them now that you have them." 

They had reached the Chateau gate as Miss Meadows said 
this and telling the taxi driver to wait, she rang the bell, and 
as usual faithful Jose opened the gate door. A few minutes 
later Mehitable had said goodbye to Miss Meadows with the 
assurance that she would have another day in Paris soon, and 
she was back again at school with just time to make ready for 
dinner. 

She had reported to Madame on the way downstairs. She 
told Gladys about her day in Paris, during dinner, but some- 


The White Dress 


211 


way it did not sound so very thrilling as she told it. Gladys 
was so used to cities and fashionable tea rooms. And she 
could not see why Mehitable was so delighted with her kodak. 

“Fve had six,” she remarked as they sat at dinner. ‘‘I 
broke two or three and lost the others. I never cared much 
about taking views of places, but when we went to California 
I thought I ought to have one, and different times when weVe 
come abroad Tve carried one along.” 

Mehitable looked at her in wonder. “But you can think of 
it all so beautifully if you have the pictures. Of course I 
would always and always remember the Chateau, but it will 
be so lovely to have real pictures of it and the girls. Now I 
can have the faces of my friends with me all the time.” 

Una was delighted about the kodak, and said laughingly, 
“You can take pictures of the garden at Garth Hall in the 
spring holidays, Mehitable.” 


CHAPTER XX 

TEARS AND FUN 

There were two long classes after breakfast the next morn¬ 
ing. One was grammar which, as a rule, Mehitable disliked, 
but when Mademoiselle Gerlere said to her that morning, 
‘‘Mademoiselle Webster you have improved,’’ she was so 
pleased that even grammar seemed interesting. “How glad 
Aunt Comfort would have been to have heard her say that,” 
she thought. Somehow she wanted more than ever to please 
Aunt Comfort. 

Next came the class that she loved, the poetry class. They 
learned to pronounce by memorizing simple poems and recit¬ 
ing them before the class. This morning their poem was the 
charming one that Victor Hugo wrote about his litttle grand¬ 
daughter. 

Jeanne etait au pain sec dans le cabinet noir. 

Pour un crime quelconquef* 

So it began and each one of them stood up and repeated it 
Some of the girls wavered toward the end, and poor Gladys 
stopped entirely after she had said the first few lines. She 
could not memorize. It was always the same thing; she would 
start out bravely enough but was soon in a hopeless tangle. 
It was difficult to acquire the right accent and it seemed some¬ 
times to Mehitable that she would never be able to speak with 
the real thrill and charm that Mademoiselle Gelere gave to her 
words. Mehitable loved the poems and said often to herself 
as they struggled with the words, “We are spoiling something 
that is perfect, we are hurting a beautiful thing.” 

She had said something like this to young Madame one day 
212 


Tears and Fun 


213 


and she had answered, ‘‘Think what lovely things you will 
make of the poems when you have finally learned to say 
them in the right way. Keep on trying, dear.” 

There was a study hour after lunch and Mehitable wrote 
out a verb for the next day. No one knew how she disliked 
verbs. When she had finished she shut up her blank book and 
put it in her desk, at the same time drawing out her diary. 
She knew that she should have studied the verb but decided 
to put it off until the later study period and soon was deep in 
the delight of writing in her diary. 

‘T have so much to write in you to-day, diary. Oh, Barbie, 
we never thought on that birthday morning, that I should have 
so many wonderful things to say to you. Yesterday was oh, 
so beautiful! Everything we did was fun, but of course, I 
keep thinking most about the white dress and the green sash 
—all my own. Diary, it’s a soft, soft white dress and a sash 
of just the color I’ve always wanted. It was a dream come 
true. I loved the whole day so much. This is a happy 
world.” 

“Mademoiselle Webster, where is the history exercise that 
you were to have handed in last night?” 

Mehitable looked up with a start. Miss Derk was standing 
by her desk. Oh—the exercise, she had nearly finished it but 
had quite forgotten it when she had come in, the night before. 

‘T was in Paris yesterday, Miss Derk. The exercise is 
nearly done. I should have finished it last night, but I forgot 
all about it.” 

Miss Derk was very much annoyed. She was disappointed 
also for Mehitable seemed more interested than most of her 
pupils and as a rule was prompt with her work. “You have 
no right to forget you school work—what is that?” she asked, 
picking up Mehitable’s diary, as she spoke. 


214 


Mehitable 


“It is my diary,” answered Mehitable in a low voice. 

“You have been exceedingly disobedient. You know very 
well that you are not allowed to write English during study 
hours. To punish you I shall take this from you,” Miss Derk 
said coldly. 

Mehitable felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She was 
angry, more angry that she had ever been in her life before, 
but it was an anger born of sorrow. If she had shown Miss 
Derk more of the sorrow and less temper, things might have 
been quite different, but she burst out almost before she knew 
it with a torrent of angry words. 

“Give me my diary. Miss Derk, please give it to me at once. 
You have no right to touch it. Oh—you are a cruel woman.” 

A voice broke in on Mehitable’s words, a very quiet, stern 
voice. “Mehitable,” it said, “I am ashamed of you.” 

Mehitable looked up and saw young Madame de Villiers 
standing by the desk. The bell had rung when Miss Derk had 
been speaking to her about the diary, and young Madame had 
come through the schoolroom, on her way to the garden. She 
said nothing more and passing the desk, went out through the 
open French window, Mehitable’s face had turned a little 
white. Perhaps Miss Derk noticed this; at any rate she 
turned away, saying, “Have the exercise ready for me as soon 
as possible.” 

She went on down the schoolroom to her own classroom 
at the far end, and in her hands she carried the beloved diary. 

The bell rang and the next study period began. Mehitable 
finished the exercise for Miss Derk, and then for the rest of 
the hour sat very still bending over the history book on her 
desk, and as her hair partly hid her face, one would have 
thought she was studying. The words of young Madame kept 


Tears and Fun 


215 


sounding in her ears. ‘‘Mehitable I am ashamed of you.” 
Nothing else seemed to matter just then, not even the loss of 
the diary. Her most wonderful friend was ashamed of her. 

The hour was over at last and Mehitable stood up. There 
was something she must do at once, she must ask Miss Derk's 
pardon for having spoken to her so rudely. She would have 
no respect for herself until she had done so. What would 
Aunt Comfort have thought to have heard her speak in such 
a way, she wondered. She knocked on the door of the class¬ 
room and at Miss Derk’s response, went inside. The teacher 
sat at a desk where she had been correcting papers. Mehit¬ 
able went up to her and said bravely, “I’m sorry that I spoke 
to you as I did, Miss Derk. I hope that you will try and for¬ 
give me.” 

“Very well, Mehitable, we will say no more about it. I 
was indeed surprised that you could have so far forgotten 
yourself.” 

She looked down at her papers and Mehitable left the room. 
She crossed the schoolroom and the veranda and went on 
through to the long corridor, up the stairs leading to the Long 
Gallery. It was recreation time and everyone seemed to be 
in the garden. She thought she heard Una’s voice calling her, 
but she did not want to see Una or anyone else. She wanted 
to be alone with her unhappiness. 

She went into the unused room by the stairs in the Long 
Gallery, the same room where she had heard Clythie’s and 
Jean’s conversation. For a moment she stood looking out of 
the window as she had done that other day, and she saw young 
Madame and Miss Derk walking in the garden. Were they 
talking of her, she wondered dully? Then she went over and 
sat down on the worn old sofa in the corner, burying her face 


216 


Mehitable 


in her hands, but not crying. Had there been a happy day 
yesterday, a day of surprises? Was there any happiness any¬ 
where in the world ? 

As she sat there Mehitable wanted Patchwork as she had 
never wanted him before. She longed to hear his gentle purr, 
to feel the soft comfort of his fur against her cheek. Sud¬ 
denly the door opened and someone came quickly inside. It 
was young Madame; she came up to the sofa and sitting down 
beside Mehitable, put both arms around her. All the misery 
of the afternoon found expression then, in tears, and with 
her head buried on the shoulder of her friend, Mehitable 
sobbed away some of the hurt at her heart. The worst of it 
was healed when young Madame said tenderly, “Pve alv/ays 
wanted a little girl, Mehitable, a dear, brown-haired girl like 
you, yes, just like you. Pve dreamed of her as you’ve had 
your dreams, and now she’s come true. You are she and 
because of loving you so much, it hurt me to have you speak 
as you did to Miss Derk.” 

For a long time they sat there on the old sofa and the talk 
they had brought great comfort to Mehitable’s heart. Young 
Madame did most of the talking for Mehitable could not check 
her tears all at once. Her sobs grew less and less and after 
a while she was able to say, with a smile through her tears, 
‘T’m not good enough to be your friend; I’ve a very bad tem¬ 
per—I haven’t really forgiven Miss Derk.” 

“You are the girl I want, Mehitable, even though you do 
give such a dreadful description of yourself. You will want 
to forgive Miss Derk when you know a little more about her. 
She is one of those unfortunate people who cannot seem to 
show their best selves to the world. Miss Derk has had a 
sad sort of life, so sad that I hardly like to tell you about it. 
She lost her father whom she so loved, and for years has sup- 


Tears and Fun 


217 


ported her mother and younger sisters. Then she was 
engaged to a splendid man, and he was drowned in saving a 
child in the village where they live. Somehow, this has all 
made her bitter. She has let sorrow do that for her, has let 
it take all the sweetness out of things.” 

‘‘Oh, IVe been so selfish, just thinking oi myself—I am 
sorry.” 

When Mehitable said that, her friend took her face between 
her two hands and laughingly kissed her. ‘‘You’re not to be 
sorry about anything more to-day, dear, you’re just to be 
happy.” Then she grew more serious and said gently: “You 
haven’t really been as selfish as you think, Mehitable. Miss 
Derk told me that you had always shown her more consider¬ 
ation than any of the other girls in the class. She, too, is 
very sorry about this, I think.” They walked back to the 
veranda together, and when young Madame left her she said, 
“Some day we’ll have you with us in England, Mehitable.” 

Miss Derk did not mention the incident of the diary to 
Mehitable again but her manner toward her was kinder. The 
days flew by, full of work. One day Una came to Mehitable 
in great excitement. It was just before lunch. “We’re to 
have a half holiday, it’s Mardi Gras. Oh, Mehitable, it’s 
going to be so wonderful. You and Tip and Clythie and I are 
to go with young Madame, yes, she told me to tell you. 
We’re to have lunch and then start right off.” 

Wfiat excitement! Una was full of the holiday spirit right 
away, she had always wanted to be out on Mardi Gras, but 
had not been allowed. All the school was to go, but to Mehit¬ 
able the thought of being with young Madame was the greatest 
delight of all. When they found her waiting for them out¬ 
side the gate, sitting in her new gray motor, which she her¬ 
self drove, and when she called gaily to Mehitable^ to jump up 


218 


Mehitable 


beside her it really seemed as though there was nothing left 
to be desired. There was one thing. Mehitable was wishing 
Phillippe was with them, as they drove down the Boulevard 
Victor Hugo. 

“This is a day when everyone enjoys themselves,” said 
young Madame. “It’s the middle of Lent, and it’s a very long 
ago French custom to have just this one day of fun. It is 
very innocent fun and no one is any the worse for it. We’ll 
see the procession, but first I have an errand in another direc¬ 
tion.” She smiled as she spoke, looking back over her shoul¬ 
der at the girls in the other seat. “We’re going to pick up 
Miss Meadows at her hotel. I wrote her that we would. Will 
one of you please take the little seat?” 

Una said she would like to and just then they found them¬ 
selves in front of the great Gare du Nord, and almost at once, 
it seemed, a slender figure in gray came running through the 
crowd, closely followed by Mr. Briggs, his tutor. It was Phil¬ 
lippe! He jumped up on the running board, kissing his 
mother, shook hands with Mehitable and the others, and said 
smiling, “I’m all ready for a jolly day.” 

What a surprise it was! How pleased they were! Phil- 
lippe’s mother talked a moment to Mr. Briggs, who then dis¬ 
appeared in the crowd and before they started on Phillippe 
handed her a letter. It had a French Algiers post mark. She 
asked the others to excuse her while she read it and then said 
to Philippe, “It’s from father. He will soon be starting 
home. He’s with his regiment in Algiers,” she added, turning 
to the girls. 

“Splendid!” answered Philippe, “It came for you at the 
hotel just before we left, so I brought it right along.” 

Young Madame looked very happy as she drove slowly 
through the crowded streets. Phillippe sat between her and 


Tears and Fun 


219 

Mehitable. He was much sunburned and his nose was freckled 
but he too was very happy and beamed on all the world as 
they came nearer and nearer the Mardi Gras crowd. “Oh, 
but this is jolly,” he kept saying to Mehitable, turning back 
to send some teasing remark to the girls, every now and then. 
Tip always had an answer for him and there was much laugh¬ 
ter and fun. Miss Meadows was waiting for them and sat 
with Tip and Clythie on the back seat. Suddenly they forgot 
themselves in watching for the procession. There was music 
in the distance, the sound of trumpets and shouting, even 
applause, and then the very first of the Mardi Gras began, for 
around the corner, mounted on a white pony came Goo Goo, 
the clown that all Paris loved. He sang as he came, standing 
up on the pony now and then, and even dancing, as he roared 
out his ditty. He waved his hand to the little party in Madame 
de Villiers’ car and they all waved back at him. Phillippe had 
seen him so often that he seemed like an old friend, for every 
year, whatever other changes there might be. Goo Goo was 
always at the head of the procession on Mardi Gras. 

Mehitable turned and smiled back at Miss Meadows. *Tsnh 
it fun?” she asked. 

Miss Meadows nodded, “Another adventure for you to put 
in your diary,” she answered cheerily. Mehitable^s face 
clouded for a moment, but she had no time then to regret the 
diary, for Goo Goo was passing very close, dancing a special 
dance for them, and just behind him came a band of—what 
were they ? Pigmies ? Odd little figures dressed as Brownies 
and gnomes. Then there was the band all in red and gold, 
playing martial music. 

“It makes me want to be a soldier more than ever,” said 
Phillippe to his mother. 

Then the floats came in sight, and to Mehitable they were 


220 


Mehitable 


the best of all. One never knew what was coming next, and 
oh, how clever they were, how merry everyone was, how they 
sang and shouted, laughed and danced. Girls in Eastern cos¬ 
tumes, long white robes and veiled faces, girls dressed as 
Breton peasants, as Spanish beauties, as flowers, and even as 
birds. 

“See that violet girl, isn^t she lovely?’’ said Clythie eagerly, 
as a float went by. The violet girl was lovely. She sat in the 
midst of a group of girls. Her mauve frock was covered 
with violets, and there was a wreath of them about her dark 
head. 

“She is lovelier than the Queen, I think,” answered Mehit¬ 
able, for just then the Queen and her court drove by, a young 
girl in white with a crown of brilliants on her head. Grouped 
around her were other girls in white and pink. 

“I should think they would all take their death of cold,’' 
remarked practical Miss Meadows. 

Just then they were showered with red and green and 
white confetti, thrown at them by a group of Pierrots in their 
odd, black and white costumes and tall black caps. Their float 
was a red one and they made a very pretty picture. 

“You should make a poem about the Pierrots, Mehitable,” 
said young Madame. 

“Oh, look,” cried Tip, “there’s the pancake float, what fun 
-—see they are really making them. Oh, I’d love to be up there 
with them.” They laughed at Tip when she said she liked 
the pancake float best of all. 

The procession passed by and Phillippe suggested to his 
mother that they go somewhere for tea. “This has made us 
all hungry,” he said. 

A sudden idea came to Mehitable, and she looked up eag¬ 
erly. “If we’re really going to have tea somewhere, could we 


Tears and Fun 


221 


go to the witch’s house in the woods where Una and I met the 
nice funny little woman who makes the very good cakes?” 

**Oh, yes—could we ? That would be the very best of all,” 
exclaimed Una. 

Madame de Villiers laughed and, starting the car, headed 
it toward the Bois. “You don't deserve to go there, either 
of you naughty runaways, frightening my poor mother-in-law, 
as you did. 

Mehitable looked at her to see if she were serious, but 
Madame was smiling and nodded affirmatively. “Yes, it will 
be fun to go there. Fve heard of the place and that the cakes 
are very good, and on Mardi Gras people are supposed to do 
as they like whether they deserve it or not.” 

They were making their way slowly now through the very 
crowded thoroughfare, but after a time they were really in 
the Bois and somewhat off the beaten track and before they 
knew it, they caught a glimpse of the little brown rustic cot¬ 
tage, through the very early spring green of the trees. 

Una and Mehitable were greatly excited at coming again 
to the scene of their adventure. Would the little Madame 
Parte be ready for visitors, would she have baked her famous 
little cakes to-day? thought Mehitable as they left the motor in 
the roadway and came up the winding path. Indeed the little 
cake woman did expect people, and she greeted them cordially, 
even patting the two girls on the shoulder. As it was still 
early there were only a few people at the many little tables at 
the back of the cottage and they were soon served with cups 
of hot chocolate and the delicious cakes. They had a very 
good time. It was warm for March and the fragrant woody 
scent of the Bois was all around them. Young Madame was 
very lovely in her gray motor cloak and her hat with the 
soft, silvery-gray veil. Phillippe had much to tell them of 


222 


Mehitable 


his sports in ,the south and the girls told him all the latest 
Chateau news. Miss Meadows was enjoying it all so much. 
The day had given her the touch of foreign life which she so 
liked and she was interested in Mehitable and the other girls 
and in Phillippe and his mother. 

The little cake woman came and talked to them, telling 
them about her son, and blushing with pleasure as they praised 
her wares. They said goodbye, promising to come again, and 
were soon on their way back. They passed a great many 
little booths where smiling, dark-haired girls sold bunches of 
violets and mimosa, shiny squares of gingerbread, almond 
sweets done up in colored tissue papers, and photographs of 
the floats. Young Madame said that they might buy something 
if they wished, and they had a splendid time choosing what 
they would have. Una bought some mimosa; Clythie a bunch 
of roses; Phillippe several squares of gingerbread which he 
passed around; Mehitable a picture of some of the floats that 
were in the parade for Miss Meadows, and a great bunch of 
lovely fresh violets for young Madame, who was delighted 
with them and pinned them on the front of her coat. 

They brought Miss Meadows back with them to the 
Chateau for there was to be a concert that evening and 
Madame had asked her to attend it. Almost the happiest part 
of the day to Mehitable was the end of it, for she wore the 
new white dress and the green sash. She with Una, Tip, and 
some of the others, sat in a row together. Phillippe and his 
mother and Miss Meadows were with Madame near the stage. 
Clythie sang a sweet French song call ***Ouvre tes yeux 
blue/' and had much applause. She danced also and was quite 
the belle of the evening, in her soft rose frock. Janey 
Dascrow played, and as Mehitable listened she thought of 
Tip’s words that first morning on the walk, ‘‘She is a genius.” 


Tears and Fun 


223 

Several other pupils played and Etta Slowbum, who spoke 
French with a very correct accent, recited Victor Hugo's 
''Les Yeiix!* Mehitable had never heard it before and felt 
the beauty of it although Etta did not give it much expres¬ 
sion. 

The greatest surprise of the day came after the concert 
when Madame, who stood with Miss Meadows by the desk, 
beckoned to Mehitable, and when she had come up to her, 
looking at her with her direct piercing glance, said— 

‘*Enfante, Fve been talking with Miss Meadows about you, 
discussing with her a letter I have received from Mrs. Lind¬ 
say. She has suggested your going somewhere for the spring 
holidays. Miss Meadows says that Una O'Hara wishes you 
to go home with her." She glanced sharply about the room, 
saw Una and called to her. 

Mehitable hardly remembered the conversation that fol¬ 
lowed, but she knew before it was over that a great wish was 
coming true for Madame said, “If you do well in your work 
from now until April, I do not see any reason why you should 
not go." 

Una and Mehitable could only look at each other, but they 
managed to say, “Merci, Madame." 

Miss Meadows was obliged to go on to London the next 
day and so Mehitable had to say goodbye to her. It would 
be a' long goodbye, because Miss Meadows was sailing the 
next week, from Liverpool. Mehitable felt the tears in her 
eyes as Miss Meadows kissed her goodbye. 

“I shall surely go to see your aunt in Cherryville as soon as 
I can and will tell them all about you. Have as many adven¬ 
tures as you can and write me about them," Miss Meadows 
said cheerily, little knowing what one of them would be. 

When Mehitable said goodnight to young Madame, the lat- 


224 


Mehitable 


ter reminded her of what the visit to Ireland would really 
mean to her. “You will find afterward how much inspira¬ 
tion it will give you for years to come. Ireland will bring 
your poems to the surface, Mehitable,—all the lovely fancies 
way back somewhere in your mind.” 

After Mardi Gras they went back again to humdrum school 
life but they felt some of the fun and merriment still with 
them. Mehitable wrote a long letter to Aunt Comfort telling 
her about the proposed trip to Ireland, another to Barbara 
and one to the boys, Robin and Johnnie. “If only we four 
could go with Una instead of just one of us,” she wrote. She 
was to be at the Chateau all the next winter and would be 
there in the summer, she supposed, until Mrs. Lindsay came 
from Japan in August. Mrs. Lindsay was a very poor corre¬ 
spondent and Mehitable had heard from her only twice since 
she had been at school but had written regularly, herself. “We 
will go off somewhere on the continent and really become 
acquainted,” Mrs. Lindsay had written in her last letter. How 
thrilling that sounded to Mehitable—“somewhere on the con¬ 
tinent.” 

Time flew by and the last evening before the spring holi¬ 
days came almost before they knew it. Mehitable and Nancy 
had a long talk by the window. “It’s a queer kind of place, 
Ireland, I’ve always heard, and you are liable to pick up all 
sorts of fancy notions there,” said Nancy. “Do be careful, 
Mehitable.” 






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AT VERSAILLES: “AS TAR AS ONE COULD SEE, SILVER RAINBOW 

SPRAYS OF WATER” 





CHAPTER XXI 

ON THE WAY THERE 

Mehitable and Una were to travel with the girls going 
home to England for the holidays. After prayers, the night 
before they were to leave, Miss Derk handed Mehitable her 
diary. “You will want it in Ireland,’^ she said kindly. Mehit¬ 
able impulsively kissed Miss Derk, and she did not seem to 
mind. 

It was really “The Day” at last. Trunks were being taken 
out by heavy-footed expressmen. Because of this the girls 
went down the servants* stairway for lunch and then there 
was the hurried putting on of jackets, a gathering together of 
bags and umbrellas, and they were off. The familiar omni¬ 
busses took them to the Gare du Nord, and soon they were 
comfortably settled in the train. 

Who would have thought that travelling could be so fasci¬ 
nating, so much fun! One’s own friends coming right along, 
too. Mehitable was thinking of this as the train rushed on. 
Madame’s compartment was next to theirs, so that Tip had 
to be silenced every now and then when her spirits got the 
better of her. She and Una, Chiona who was to spend her 
spring vacation at the Japanese embassy in London, Janey 
Dascrow and Mehitable occupied the same compartment. All 
the way to Calais they talked and laughed. They were seeing 
each other in quite a new environment and there was some¬ 
thing very interesting about it. “We all seem different, some 
way,” Mehitable said and they all laughed. 

Una was in keen spirits. She was going home, and above 
225 


226 


Mehitable 


all was taking Mehitable with her. So many of their dreams 
were coming true. Mehitable was divided between a desire to 
gaze out of the window *‘at France,” as she expressed it and 
to listen and join in the fun in the compartment. The 
despised brown valise was with her and she teased Tip by 
asking if she would carry it for her. 

For a while she did forget everything but the wonder out¬ 
side, for the country in its very early spring dress was lovely 
beyond words. They were passing a river, a thin streak of 
silver, and on the opposite side a tall castle stood outlined 
against the blue sky. 

Chiona gazed out of the window with Mehitable, sharing 
the beauty of the scene with her. They were both compelled 
to look around when Tip called ‘‘Lunch.” Therese, Madame’s 
maid, was passing baskets around in each of the compart¬ 
ments and they were soon enjoying sandwiches and fruit. 
Then before they knew it they were in Calais, on the boat 
starting for England. The crossing to Dover was much less 
rough than they had expected and as they were allowed to be 
on deck and the seats were nearly all taken, Mehitable, Una 
and Tip and two or three others, sat in a life boat and Mehit¬ 
able made up a story of a shipwreck. It was an absurd story, 
for the entire crew and all the passengers landed on a won¬ 
derful island full of fruit and vegetables and lived there hap¬ 
pily ever after. 

“Oh, do let them have ship’s biscuits and tinned beef, 
Mehitable; they always do in such stories and it sounds so 
good,” said Una when they were in the midst of the story. 
Mademoiselle Gelere found them there in the boat and made 
them leave it at once, but by that time the great white cliffs 
of Dover were in sight and tliere was a hustling to make 
ready to land. 


227 


On the Way There 

The tea boys put in an appearance on the train just before 
they left Dover, but Madame would not let them have tea, 
saying they had had a good lunch and that that was enough. 
This was a disappointment to Mehitable. She had thought 
so much of the English tea on the train with Miss Meadows. 
They said goodbye to Madame and the girls at the great noisy 
London station. Madame was too busy to do more than give 
them a last warning as to how they were to conduct them¬ 
selves on the journey, when they were left alone. She kissed 
them on each cheek in true French fashion and before they 
knew it they were safe inside a taxi with Miss Derk and on 
the way to the small hotel in Russell Square where they were 
to spend the night. It was raining and so dark that, peer as 
she would, Mehitable could catch only a glimpse of London. 
Through a sheet of rain she could see a great dome in the 
distance which Miss Derk told her was St. Paul’s Cathedral. 

The hotel was very quiet. The windows of their rooms 
looked out on a large silent square surrounded by dark silent 
houses. They had supper in their little sitting room, by a 
small wood fire. That was fun. “Sort of like a Dickens 
story,’* thought Mehitable, who had loved “David Copper- 
field” for a long time. 

For supper they had chops and potatoes and a pudding 
which Una said was called “Semolina.” It was very good 
but Una did not eat it. “I was brought up on it,” she said. 
“We used to have it for nursery dinner twice a week.” Miss 
Derk admitted that she, too, had been brought up on it. She 
was quite pleasant, “quite like a girl,” said Una to Mehitable 
afterward. 

“Oh, how Mehitable wanted to see London. Here she was 
in the heart of it and yet she could hardly see out of the win¬ 
dows. Una had suggested to Mehitable that she ask Miss Derk 


228 


Mehitable 


if they might at least take a little walk before going to bed. 
‘^She likes you best, perhaps if you ask she might say yes,^' 
Una had suggested. Miss Derk, however, had refused. She 
said they were all tired. It was raining, and they must make 
an early start in the morning, so after a while they went to 
bed and were asleep almost at once. 

There was a hurried breakfast next morning and they were 
soon on the train at Euston station bound for Holyhead, 
where they were to take the boat for Ireland. Miss Derk 
went with them as far as Chester, which was more than half 
way. The three had lunch together on the train and Miss 
Derk was almost gay; they had never seen her that way 
before. She was going home for the first time since Septem¬ 
ber, and because she was happy she seemed younger, a differ¬ 
ent being, to the two girls. They both kissed her goodbye and 
she did not once tell them how to behave on the rest of the 
journey. Instead she actually said she wished they were 
stopping off at her home for a few days, and that she would 
meet them at Chester on their way back, and then was gone. 

Mehitable and Una looked at each other and smiled happily 
as the train started on and they were alone. ‘Ts it really true 
—you and I on our way to Ireland? Was there ever an 
adventure like this?’' exclaimed Mehitable. 

"What if you shouldn’t like Ireland?” asked Una a little 
anxiously. "Some people don’t you know.” 

Mehitable only smiled at this. The thought of her not 
liking Ireland seemed too absurd to be worthy of an answer. 

There was an odd feeling of freedom in their being alone 
together. They had the compartment to themselves now and 
sat looking out at the fast flying landscape. After the guard 
called "Bangor,” Mehitable turned to Una speaking excitedly. 
"We’re in North Wales now, and we’re near Gwendy’s home; 


229 


On the Way There 

she said after we left Bangor to watch for Menai Bridge, 
that we could see the Lodge house of her home from the 
train.’^ 

They saw the bridge almost at once and just across from 
their window on the left they saw the smoke rising from a 
little house which they made up their minds was surely belong¬ 
ing to the estate which was Gwendy’s home. Soon they were 
at Holyhead. Their boat lay alongside the platform as the 
train drew up, and they followed the crowd on board. 

The next three hours Mehitable never forgot as long as 
she lived. It was her first experience at being in a rather 
small boat in the midst of a tremendous sea. She was too 
excited to be really ill and from where she lay she could watch 
the sea. The waves were giant things, menacing, cruel. At 
last the stewardess came to them where they lay on sofas in 
the ladies’ cabin and told them that they would be in King- 
town almost at once. So they gathered up their bags and 
umbrellas and went out on deck. The motion had greatly 
lessened and they were nearly at the end of a pier that 
stretched far out into the gray water. The sky was blue, 
gray, and white. Sea gulls floated about the ship. 

A mist lay over the gray city of Dublin in the distance. It 
was sunset time and the clouds in the opal sky were faintly 
touched with pink and gold. They boarded another train 
which also lay alongside of the platform when they embarked, 
and they had a quick little journey to Dublin in a crowded 
compartment. Mehitable caught a glimpse of green fields and 
high stone walls and then before she knew it they had 
changed trains at a Dublin station and were on their way to 
Killcrae. It was a journey of only an hour, and Una grew 
more and more excited as they passed familiar places and she 
realized how soon she would really be home. 


230 


Mehitahle 


At last the train drew up at the little station of Killcrae 
and they jumped out. The guard handed down their bag¬ 
gage and the train started on. Una was talking to the old 
station master almost before she was really safe on the plat¬ 
form. She seemed to know him well and asked him at least 
a half dozen question almost in one breath. Where was 
everybody? Had he seen anything of the motor that day? 
Weren’t the boys home? How was his wife and the new 
baby? The station master, a grizzled old man, answered her 
questions in a roundabout way. He had heard tell that the 
master had gone fishing. Yes, he had seen Master Pat with 
the car up Killcorn way early in the day, the new baby was 
the prettiest in all Ireland. 

“Oh well,” said Una, unconcernedly, turning to Mehit- 
able, “no one came to meet us. Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, 
“there’s old Garry—^hullo Garry—I say Garry!” she called, 
and an answering voice from a strange-looking vehicle com¬ 
ing toward them called out, “Welcome, and miny of them, 
Miss Una.” 

The newcomer waved his whip and drew up at the corner 
cf the platform near them. “It’s our Garry,” explained Una, 
delightedly. “He’s come with the outside car. Leave your 
bag, he will see to everything.” 

She leaned over the edge of the platform and warmly shook 
hands with the odd-looking, white-bearded man who drove the 
car. He climbed down rather painfully, and as Una intro¬ 
duced him to Mehitable, made a low bow. He wore a faded 
green coat and wide hat and he had a very bright smile when 
he spoke. 

“Sure it’s a great day this, Miss Una, a great day.” He 
made an extra bow to Mehitable. “You’re welcome Miss, 
welcome. There be no one comes to Garth Hall that be not 
welcome.” 


231 


On the Way There 

‘‘Well, let us hurry home. Come, Mehitable, climb in, I’ll 
help you. See to the luggage, Garry. And now weVe off. 
Oh, the joy of it. I’m home.” 

Garry chirped to the horse and they started down a 
long, winding road. They were riding in a jaunting car, a real 
one. This was Ireland. She was on her way to Una’s home, 
and she would see it all, the wishing well in the wood, the 
haunted wing, Una’s brothers and sisters, everything. 

It had cleared since sunset and a few stars shone faintly in 
the pale sky. On each side of the road were trees faintly 
green against the sky Far off were purple blue hills. “The 
sugarloafs,” said Una. 

They drove back to back, sitting sideways on long narrow 
seats. Stumpy, the horse, was wanting his late supper and 
went at a brisk trot. The air was sweet, breathing of clover. 
Along the roadside were bushes of wild roses. Their sweet¬ 
ness seemed everywhere and they shone faintly pink in the 
soft dusk. It was lovely beyond words. “Only a poem can 
describe it,” thought Mehitable. 

She would have liked just to drink it in in silence, but Una 
and Garry had much to say, Garry especially. “Your tilli- 
gram niver came, dear, till to-night. Mag Shillagor was took 
awful sick wid pleurisy this marnin, and they was all so wild 
about bein’ afraid she might die. She, with six childrin and 
Barney no good at doin’ anything, and so they forgot entirely 
to send the tilligram up to the house.” 

“Is mother home ?” asked Una, not at all upset by this news 
of the wire. 

“No, Miss Una, she’s gone a fishin’ for two days, she and 
Master. They weren’t expectin’ ye till to-morrow.” 

“Who is home ?” asked Una. 

“All the boys except of course Master Lionel in India, and 
two frinds from the college of Master Pat’s, and your cousins 


232 


Mehifable 


the McCathy Gormes and some frinds of Miss Molly’s and 
—and why that’s all, but—Oh, yis, your old frind Miss 
Winchy’s spending a week bein’ run down in health with the 
rheumatism—she’s-” 

“All right, Garry. Oh, dear, what on earth did old Winchy 
want to come just now for? She’s a governess we had for 
years and we all drew a sigh of relief when she finally went 
to live with her brother. Mother’s so soft hearted, she’s told 
her to come back whenever she likes.” 

It seemed to Mehitable, from Garry’s account, that there 
would be a house full to greet them on their arrival. She was 
disappointed that Una’s mother was not at home and a little 
alarmed at the thought of meeting so many strangers. As 
they turned into a driveway guarded by wide open iron gates, 
Una put her hand on Mehitable’s shoulder. 

“We’ll see Garth Hall in a minute, just when we take the 
turn ahead,” she said. 

Stumpy trotted around the winding gravel curve and tall 
and dark against the sky stood Garth Hall. It was a huge 
house of red brick, darkened by centuries of storm and faded 
here and there to orange by centuries of sun. There was a 
sloping terrace at one side and deep woods at the back. As 
the horse’s hoofs sounded on the driveway, there was a sud¬ 
den wild commotion, barking, the rush of feet and a cavalcade 
of dogs came rushing toward them. Una nearly jumped out 
of the car in her delight. 

“Darlings,” she called, “Asthore, Midge—Oh, there is Gol¬ 
liwog !” 

She stood up in the car in some danger of being thrown out, 
as they whirled up to the wide stone doorway. The dogs 
rushed around and around the car barking furiously. Una 
jumped down, gave a hand to Mehitable and the next second 



On the Way There 233 

was receiving the wild caresses of what seemed to Mehit- 
able at the moment, innumerable dogs. 

Una petted them all, at the same time calling out to a 
pretty, brown-haired girl, who was waving to them as she 
came flying across the lawn. 

“It’s Molly—^hullo Molly—^this is Mehitable. Oh, it’s jolly 
to be back. What’s the matter with Dodger’s fur? It looks 
queer.” she added in the next breath. 

“Mange, I’m afraid. Garry overfeeds them,” answered 
Molly, giving Una a hurried kiss. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” 
she said to Mehitable. “Mother’s gone off with Dad,—^back 
to-morrow. The house is crammed and Miles has asked those 
stupid Fogarty boys for the week end. He is so annoying. 
They will simply have to sleep in the coach house, for Pat has 
that nice Reggie Carters staying and I’ve asked all the 
O’Laughlans to spend the night after tennis to-morrow.” 

This conversation took place in one breath and they were 
still standing, on the wide stone steps, the enchanting evening 
air all about them. 

“I like the Fogarty boys. They’re not stupid at all. I’m 
glad Miles has asked them. They won’t mind sleeping in the 
cbach house. Where’s Peg?” 

“Rat hunting along the south creek,” answered Molly, as 
they went inside. 

“We’re starved. Had dinner?” asked Una, as she put her 
arm around Mehitable and drew her inside the great oak door. 

“We played until nearly six before Dennis brought out the 
tea. Everyone was famished and we devoured simply dozens 
of potato cakes, so we thought instead of dinner we’d have late 
supper when you came. We didn’t know you were coming 
until an hour or so ago. They didn’t send up the wire.” 

They were standing in the middle of the great hall and it 


234 


Mehitable 


was so dark that Mehitable could see Molly’s face only dimly 
as she spoke. Just then a man servant put some lighted can¬ 
dles on an oak stand near the door and came toward them 
with a tall candelabra of lighted candles in his hand. It was 
Dennis, the butler, and Una greeted him cordially. The dogs 
had followed them inside and wandered restlessly about. Now 
that the first wild excitement was over they did not know quite 
what to do next. 

Voices sounded, and the next minute several boys with ten¬ 
nis racquets came in from the back of the hall. It seemed to 
Mehitable that there were dozens of them. In reality there 
were eight, and with them were three girls. 

*‘WeVe been for a long walk since tennis,” one of the boys 
called and then recognizing Una they all came up, and there 
began a series of introductions. Mehitable had never met 
so many people at one time before. 

Dennis announced supper as she was being introduced to 
the last McCarthy Gorme cousin and they all went into the 
big, dimly-lighted dining room. Una and Mehitable washed 
their hands and smoothed their hair in a cloak room off the 
hall. It was so filled with golf sticks, bags, fishing rods and 
hats and coats that they could hardly walk across it. Then 
they went on in to supper, for they were very hungry indeed. 

Everyone was very merry and noisy at supper and there 
was a great deal of laughter. The dogs sat about at the sides 
of their favorites. Little Golliwog, the black-haired poodle, ^ 
honored Mehitable with his company, sitting quietly beside 
her and taking any morsel that she gave him, in a very polite 
and quiet manner. Miles and Eric, the two O’Hara boys, 
home from their first year at Trinity College in Dublin for 
the spring vacation, were in the greatest spirits. Miles, the 
younger one, a lad of seventeen, had with him his friends, 


On the Way There 235 

the Fogartys, who knew Una well, and they were soon deep 
in plans for the next few days. 

“I want Mehitable to see Glendalough and I insist on hav¬ 
ing the motor almost all the time. Fll speak to dad about it,” 
announced Una to her brother Patrick, as he helped her to 
some cold tongue. 

“Fll be delighted to drive Miss Mehitable anywhere she 
would like to go,” announced Patrick gallantly. 

*‘We won’t need you at all. Fll drive the car myself,” 
answered Una. ‘‘Miles and the boys can come if they like, 
we're going to have all sorts of fun, any number of picnics.” 

Miles and the Fogartys entered into Una’s schemes and said 
if need be that they would fight for the motor until the last 
man fell. The older ones, Molly, her friend Lina Wallace 
and the McCarthy Gorme cousins had much to say about a 
dance the next night, and did not pay very much attention to 
the younger ones’ plans. 

“Isn’t it too early for picnics?” said someone suddenly from 
the far end of the long table. It was little Miss Winchy, the 
former governess. 

“Oh, no, Winchy, it’s never too early for picnics at Kill- 
crae,” answered Una. 

Just then a voice sounded from the open window which 
looked out on the terrace. “It’s too early for tennis. Wait 
until Dad comes home and finds how you’ve cut up the 
ground to-day.” 

The voice was Peg’s. She jumped into the room and run¬ 
ning over to Una, threw her arms around her neck. Peg’s 
hair was flying. Her gingham frock was torn and there were 
splashes of mud on her skirt, but Una did not mind this and 
hugged her little sister with all her might. Molly gave an 
exclamation of horror. 


236 


M ehitable 


**0h, Peg, what a sight you are. What would mother say ?” 

“This is Mehitable, Peg. You know I’ve written so much 
to you about her. She’ll tell you all kinds of stories if you’re 
good.” 

“Will you?” asked Peg, taking Mehitable’s hand as they 
all left the dining room. 

Mehitable promised that she would, and held on to Peg’s 
hand, as they went out onto the veranda. She felt more at 
home with Peg than with any of the others, though they all 
were extremely kincj. and friendly. 

“We can take a walk if you like,” suggested Una. “We 
can walk a little way through the glen. Not far, for it will 
be so dark.” 

Several of the others joined them and they walked around 
the corner of the house, past the kitchen garden, on and on 
under blossoming fruit trees, past a great sweep of daffodils 
to a little wicket gate. The Fogarty boys were with them, 
and Miles and Molly and her friend. Miss Winchy went a 
little way through the garden, but was afraid of the wood at 
night and called all sorts of warnings after them about wet 
feet, neuralgia and tramps. They only laughed and with Peg 
to take the lead they all followed after. 


CHAPTER XXII 

GARTH HALL 

It was a delightful walk. The moon shone faintly through 
the spring leaves, delicately lighting the ferns and wild 
flowers. As they went on farther into the demesne, it grew 
so dark because of the denseness of the wood that Molly sug¬ 
gested they turn back. “It gives me the shivers, it's too 
uncanny," she said. 

“The little people will be dancing in the fairy ring by the 
well. Let's go just a little farther," suggested Peg, holding 
tight to Mehitable’s hand. 

“You know better than that. Midget," laughed Miles, as 
they turned back. 

The air was soft and filled with a mystery. What was it? 
Mehitable was very tired, and she felt somehow that she was 
walking in a dream, walking in an Irish wood where Peg 
said the fairies were dancing. They all sang as they walked 
back. Now and then they would stop to talk over some sudden 
plan. Once they all sat down on some logs quite near the 
wicket gate and, in spite of various differences of opinion, they 
finally decided on a picnic at Glendalough for the day after 
the one following. 

“We'll take you through the Devil's glen. Miss Mehitable," 
said Miles. 

Mehitable smiled at him happily. “And can I see the 
Devil's Kitchen and St. Kevin’s Bed, and all the other places 
that Una has told me about?" she asked excitedly. 

237 


238 


M ehitable 


They assured her that she should see all there was to be 
seen anywhere about their part of the country. 

*‘The Blarney Stone is too far away Fm afraid, for this 
time,” Miles remarked as they went on back through the 
garden. “But perhaps not,” he added with real Irish dislike 
of limiting anything. 

Mehitable and Una had a big, airy room to themselves. 
“Peg shares it with me as a rule, but she’s rooming with 
Winchy now, so we can be together and talk and talk as much 
as we wish. Do you think you’ll like Garth Hall?” she asked a 
little anxiously. 

“Oh Una!” was all Mehitable could say. “Oh, Una, it’s 
almost all of my dreams come true. Fm so happy—so happy I” 

“You’ve only had a glimpse of it in the moonlight. Isn’t 
it odd to think you’ve not seen it in the day time yet.” 

They did no more talking that night for they were so tired 
that they were asleep before they knew it. 

The sun streamed in through the long pink and white ruffled 
chintz curtains next morning, and woke the two girls out of a 
very sound sleep. When once awake, however, they were far 
too excited to stay another minute in bed and were the first 
ones down for breakfast. The big dining room was flooded 
with sunshine. It showed up the very worn places in the dull 
blue rug, and on the oak floor, and the worn leather coverings 
of the chairs. Peg came dancing in almost as soon as they 
reached the dining room and the three had a merry breakfast 
together. To Mehitable it was strange and interesting. She 
liked to choose what she would have for breakfast from the 
various dishes on the table. Each dish had a little flame under 
it to keep it hot. She chose grilled kidneys and hot, buttered 
griddle cakes, and they had tea and honey and home-made 
jam. 


Garth Hall 


239 


Before they had finished, Molly and her friend appeared 
and Mehitable thought Molly quite the prettiest girl she had 
ever seen. She had blue eyes and dark hair and glorious color¬ 
ing. She wore a plain blue gingham and some wild roses 
were fastened at her belt. “We went out for a walk before 
breakfast,” she said, smiling a greeting to Mehitable, as she 
cut a huge slice of bread from the loaf. 

Everyone waited on themselves for breakfast. Molly was 
a very jolly girl. Her friend had been with her at school in 
England and they were soon all deep in school talk, for 
although the two older girls were really “out” they liked to 
talk over the fun they had had at Cheltenham. The Chateau 
seemed a queer sort of place to them from Una’s and Mehit- 
able’s account. They were sure that they would have been 
dreadfully in awe of Madame, though the thought of being in 
Paris was rather thrilling to them. They were thinking a 
great deal about clothes, new frocks and hats for Horse Show 
Week in Dublin, the next August. “Oh, to be rich and to be^ 
able to have all the gay and frivolous clothes one wants,” 
sighed Molly. 

The next minute she was entering into the Glendalough 
plan with all her might. Yes, they would all go. They could 
have the motor and why couldn’t Garry drive the side car and 
carry the provisions for tea and lunch that way? They went 
out as soon as they had finished breakfast, looking for Garry, 
and found him talking leisurely to a stable boy, smoking a 
long clay pipe, as he held forth on his grandfather’s fight 
with a traveling salesman at the Donnybrook fair some fifty 
years before. He was delighted at the thought of a picnic and 
vowed that any horse he drove could reach Glendalough in 
less than three hours. 

What a day that was! How they explored the gardens, 


240 


MehifabTe 


lovely in their first spring" blossoming! All up and down the 
paths they ran, in and out of the shrubbery, through little 
moss gates in the hedges. They sat in all the five summer 
houses, one of them being Peg’s doll house. Some of the 
dolls still occupied it and Mehitable enjoyed them as much as 
anything else. They drove twice to the village with Garry 
that morning, coming back a different way each time so that 
Mehitable could have a different view of the hills. They were 
very late for lunch, but so were the Fogarty boys and Miles, 
who had been fishing, and were full of accounts of their 
morning’s sport. 

After lunch, Una and Mehitable went for a walk, as Una 
wanted her to see the wopds in the day time. “Of course you 
couldn’t tell anything about them last night, Mehitable. Oh, 
I know you’re going to love the woods just as I do 1” 

They had entered the demesne and suddenly Una stopped 
speaking. “When we turn the corner by that big beech tree, 
shut your eyes, Mehitable, and don’t open them until I say 
you may.” 

Mehitable did so as they turned the corner, and Una said, 
“Open your eyes.” 

Again Mehitable obeyed; she gave a little gasp of delight 
and stood still. Through the green of moss and trees and 
ferns as far as she could see was a sweep of pale gold and 
of blue, soft sky blue, deepening to sapphire. No fairyland 
could be more enchanting than the woods of Garth Hall in 
primrose and blue bell time. They made a carpet of loveliness 
as far as one could see. 

Mehitable clasped her hands together. “It’s fairyland,” she 
breathed. 

Just then Peg came running toward them through the 
green and gold, her curls flying in the breeze, her pink frock 
making a vivid bit of color. 


Garth Hall 


241 


“I want you to see the fairy ring. Come this way Mehit- 
able,” she said. She had gathered a great bunch of wild 
flowers, wild forget-me-nots and violets, and gave them to 
Mehitable. 

^'Oh, Peg,” said Mehitable, putting her face against the 
flowers, lovingly. “Did you really have courage to pick them? 
Someway they seem enchanted to me. You see Fve never 
been in an Irish wood in the spring before.” \ 

Peg laughed delightedly and they followed her down the 
side path for a long way, deep into the very heart of the wood, 
on and on until except for patches of sunlight here and there, 
it was almost dark. Suddenly Peg stopped and looked up at 
them. “See,” she said softly, “there is the fairy ring. 
Primroses and violets and tiny sprays of fern made a ring, 
a perfect circle. 

“It just grows that way, we didn’t make it,” said Una, as 
she leaned over and touched the flowers gently. “I always 
come to see the fairy ring the very first morning when Pm 
back from school.” 

“The fairies dance here at night,” said Peg. “That is,” she 
added, “we like to pretend they do. Once when I was only 
eight, Una and I came here at midnight. No one knew any¬ 
thing about it, of course, it was moonlight and we waited 
quite a while, but we didn’t see any fairies.” 

Una laughed. “Oh, that was long ago when I was only 
twelve,” she said, rather shamefacedly. 

Mehitable was kneeling by the fairy ring. How cool and 
sweet and dark it was there! This was an Irish wood and 
she felt such a part of it, so still and happy. She looked up 
at the two who were watching her delight. 

“Perhaps you can make up a poem about it, Mehitable,” 
said Una. “Perhaps I can,” she answered softly. 

They spent a long afternoon in the wood. There were so 


242 


Mehitable 


many things to show Mehitable, so many old haunts that Una 
wanted to revisit right away. Tea was waiting for them under 
the big copper beech at the side of the terrace, that is the 
table was spread there, and when Dennis heard their voices, 
he brought out fresh tea. In fact he seemed to spend most 
of his time bringing out fresh tea, for people kept appearing. 
Miles and the Fogartys were late again and a whole outside 
car full of neighbors came before they had finished. They 
had hot cakes” which were rather like Desirees soda biscuits, 
and they all enjoyed the brown bread and butter and the home¬ 
made seed cake. The dogs drank saucers of milk and eagerly 
devoured any dainties that were thrown to them. The 
shadows were lengthening and the April air was turning very 
cold before they had all finished tea. Major and Mrs. O’Hara 
arrived before dinner and that meal was a very much more 
formal affair than that of the night before. 

Mehitable felt a little shy at meeting Una’s parents, but 
they were so kind and jolly and welcomed her so heartily 
that she felt almost like one of their own family right away. 
Mrs. O’Hara was a thin, sweet-faced woman whom all her 
family adored, and the Major, in spite of his gruff voice and 
seemingly dictatorial ways was the soul of good nature. 

Una made her request for the motor the next day, and he 
promised she should have it. Forbes the chauffeur was ill, 
so he himself would drive them to Glendalough. Peg was so 
delighted at this, that she threw her arms around his neck and 
gave him a hug. Guy and Fergus, who had been on the 
fishing trip with their parents, were fine-looking lads of thir¬ 
teen and fifteen. They said that they would come along on 
their motorcycles, and one of them offered to take Mehitable 
on the chair attachment, but the Major laughed at the idea. 

‘T’m responsible for her until she is safe at the Chateau, I 


Garth Hall 243 

can^t risk her life in that infernal machine of yours, Guy,” 
he said. 

Mehitable liked Guy. There was something about him 
that reminded her of Robin. 

It rained hard the next two days, so that they had to give 
up the picnic idea, but they had a splendid time, all of them 
together. As Molly said, they all forgot that they were 
growing up, and they played hide and seek all over the great 
house. They even hid in the haunted wing and that to 
Mehitable was the most thrilling thing she could imagine. 
Of course she knew that she wouldn’t really see the “very 
white lady in gray,” but still it was so interesting, such fun 
to pretend that she might see her! She did not say much of 
this to the others, because they never joked about ghosts, 
especially about the lady in gray. Una had told her so. 

The third day was sunny and quite warm for late April, 
and they all set off in high spirits. In the big motor were 
the Major, Mehitable, Una, Peg, Guy, one of the cousins and 
a friend of Una’s, who lived nearby and who was named 
Sheila. Miles and a Fogarty boy travelled on Guy’s motor¬ 
cycle. Old Garry had started off almost at dawn with the 
outside car filled with baskets of provisions for lunch and tea. 

Molly and her friend had other plans, but Patrick said he 
might show up for tea. “We always have tea in the same 
place at Glendalough,” Una said to Mehitable as the motor 
sped along the smooth sunshiny road. “We have it by the 
lake that Tark has ne’er flown o’er’. Have you read that 
poem, Mehitable? You’d love it.” 

Mehitable said she had not, and the Major and Peg, who 
sat beside him on the front seat took turns in telling her about 
Glendalough. 

“Oh, it’s such a strange place, Mehitable. It’s where Saint 


244 


Mehitable 


Kevin lived. There’s a rocky place called ‘Saint Kevin’s Bed’ 
where he used to stay. We’ll see it to-day.” 

“He was the son of the King of Leinster,” put in the Major. 

Mehitable was interested to hear about St. Kevin, but there 
was such beauty all around her that she could hardly think 
of anything else. They were passing by a strange sweep of 
marshland, and through the gray green grass were flashes of 
gold and red, wild daffodils and tulips growing in the marsh. 
Wild fowl flew above, or hid with their young, in the long 
grasses. Mehitable caught her breath as they sped through 
the soft damp air. Now and then she closed her eyes and 
pretended she was back again in Cherryville mending her 
stockings on the side porch, Barbara reading aloud from “The 
First Violin.” It was great fun to pretend this and then 
to open her eyes suddenly on the scene before her. 

They slackened their speed as they went through the main 
street of the village of Wicklow, the Major calling out good- 
naturedly to the many tousled-haired children playing by the 
roadside. Black Castle, an old Norman keep towered above 
them, and Mehitable stood up to catch a glimpse of it as they 
left the village behind them. They were soon passing through 
the edge ot Devil’s Glen, a deep, dense wood, going very 
swiftly through the long dusky roadway which led around 
the outer end of the glen and finding themselves almost at 
once in the valley of Avonmore, a lovely bit of wooded 
ravine with the swirling river below. On and on they sped 
through the Vale of Avoca, and as they dipped up and down 
the gentle hills, the boys and Una began to sing some of 
Moore’s songs. Mehitable tried to join in, but she could 
only hum the tunes softly not knowing the words. 

*'There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet. 


Garth Hall 


245 


As that vale in whose bosom the wild waters meet” 
Surely the words of the song were true. 

Soon they began to climb higher and higher, sloping val¬ 
leys below them, wild stretches of woods as far as they could 
see, until at last they reached the strangest place in Ireland, 
St. Kevin’s old home, Glendalough. 

They jumped out of the motor and greeted Garry, who was 
waiting for them in front of a little inn at the edge of the 
wood, where they were to have lunch. They were all very 
hungry, so they decided to have lunch at once and then explore 
Glendalough. They began at once to unpack Garry’s hamper 
of good things. 

‘‘We’ll have tea late this afternoon over at the other end of 
the lake; it’s near St. Kevin’s Bed, so we had better go there 
the last thing,” said Miles as he helped them spread out the 
lunch. He and his friend had had an uneventful ride over on 
the motorcycle. 

They were soon enjoying the beef sandwiches, cold game 
pie, fruit, and biscuits that Taddy the cook had provided. 
They had their lunch on a long wooden table in the inn 
garden. “It will be much more fun at tea,” Peg said to 
Mehitable. “Then it will really be a picnic.” 

It was a strange afternoon. The sky grew dark though it 
did not rain. There was a sense of mystery, a sense of the 
very far away past. “As far, far back as one can think and 
farther,” Mehitable said to Guy as they walked through the 
silent, brooding wood by that still, secret lake, which many of 
the Irish people believe to be enchanted. 

They were to meet the others at the far end where they were 
to have tea. They had explored the tower, which, in ancient 
days, the monks had used for retreat, and had roamed through 


246 


Mehitable 


the ruins of the old, old churches that the long ago Saint 
Kevin had founded. It was still fairly early, and they were 
to go to Saint Kevin’s Bed after tea. 

“You know the story of St. Kevin, don’t you?” asked Guy, 
as they walked under the great trees. 

Mehitable shook her head. “Just that he was a saint, and 
that he lived here all alone,” she answered. 

“The story goes that a beautiful maiden was in love with 
him; that she followed him here, and that he drowned her in 
the lake, and since then no bird has ever flown across the 
lake.” 

Mehitable was interested at once. “Oh, do you believe 
that?” she asked. 

Miles laughed. “I don’t know whether I believe in the 
drowning,” he answered, “but it is true that birds never fly 
across the lake.” 

They were nearing the bend in the lake and the others 
called to them. Peg who had been walking with them, ran 
on ahead and was soon deeply engrossed in watching the 
kettle boil, and would allow no one else to attend it. They 
had a very merry tea and the Major told many interesting 
stories about the place, and the country all around them. The 
ruins of the churches there, he told Mehitable, were almost 
the oldest in the world. 

“Yes, Saint Kevin, was a very real person in his time,” he 
said. “He did live here alone, but whether or not he really 
drowned the lady who made love to him—well that I could 
pot vouch for,” he added. 

Just as they were finishing tea, they heard the soft sound 
of oars and coming around the bend of the lake toward 
them was an old man rowing a long boat. They sprang up 


Garth Hall 247 

eagerly, leaving Garry to pack the tea things, for the boat 
was to take them to St. Kevin’s Bed. 

How still it was on the lake as they were rowed across. 
There was something sinister about it. The sun shone faintly, 
but it did not seem to brighten things. The sky was gray, and 
the lake and the woods seemed very black in contrast. Sud¬ 
denly Mehitable felt very homesick. “It’s funny,” she 
thought, “the way homesickness comes, just all of a sudden.” 
She would have given a great deal just then to have been 
picnicing in her own dear woods in Cherryville, with Barbara 
and the Bentlys and the boys, Robin and Johnnie. This place 
was beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had ever 
imagined, but she could never love it. It would always be 
full of charm, but full of sadness too. 

As they neared the other side of the lake, Mehitable gazed 
in astonishment at two silent figures that stood one on each 
side of what looked like a small stone room. They were clad 
in green and at first it was difficult to distinguish them from 
the background of the wood. 

“Who are they?” She asked Guy. 

“The sentinels, who guard the Bed,” he answered, as the 
boat glided noiselessly up to the sloping shore. “It’s an old 
Irish custom,” he added. 

Soon they were climbing up the steep bank into the wood. 
Miles and his father helped them down to where the little 
room lay almost hidden in the gloom of heavy, dropping 
branches. This was where Saint Kevin lived, this lonely, 
mystery-haunted nook. He had wanted to die here, the Major 
told Mehitable, but had been persuaded by the monks to leave 
his cherished nook and found a monastery. It was a very 
silent place; except for the lapping of the water there was 


248 


Mehitable 


not a sound. It breathed secrets of so long ago they could 
only seem myths to those happy picnickers of the present day. 

It was growing dark, and the Major said they must be 
going, so they climbed down to the boat and were soon being 
rowed way down the lake to the little inn where they had 
lunched. There were deep shadows now across the lake. It 
was touched with gloom. 

“Fancy spending the night here,'’ whispered Una. “Think 
what strange dreams we would have." 

Mehitable shuddered, half in fun and half in earnest. “Oh, 
Una," she answered, “I never thought there was a place like 
this anywhere in the world. 

They made the journey home very quickly. Mehitable and 
Una sat side by side and once they fell asleep, Una with her 
head on Mehitable’s shoulder. It had been a strange, delightful 
day. Mehitable decided that the very best part of it had been 
that long motor drive through the sweet Vale of Avoca, past 
the edge of the Devil’s Glen, on their way to the shadow- 
haunted Glendalough. She thought over the day as she lay 
watching the shadows on the chintz curtains of their bed 
room window. 

“How funny the old boatman was, when he told me that 
the fairies would find the handkerchief I lost," she thought, 
smiling to herself in the dark. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

. . A GLIMPSE AT DUBLIN 

The days flew by so quickly, days of sun and rain, of early 
mornings in the dewy gardens, “Fairy hunts,’’ as Peg called 
them in the wood, picnics on the Fairy Hill, one of their 
favorite haunts. It was a life entirely different from any that 
Mehitable had ever known. No one seemed to worry, they 
did things almost without any planning, and in spite of 
arrangements being made the last moment, everything seemed 
to work out well in the end. From the very first, Mehitable 
had not felt herself a stranger, hardly a guest, she was just 
one of them and could do as she liked. 

In spite of all their fun, she had several quiet times to 
herself and in one of them she wrote a long letter to young 
Madame de Villiers, enclosing a little poem she had written 
about the wishing well. This is the poem: 

THE WISHING WELL 

Deep in the heart of a fairy dell 
Far from the world and men, 

I know a moss-grown wishing well 
Safe in a primrose glen. 

Many a secret whispered there. 

Many a wish breathed low, ^ 

Many a hope and a promise fair. 

With only the well to knew. 

249 


250 


Mehitable 


Several letters came from Paris, one from Tip to them 
both, all the school happenings. There was also a letter from 
young Madame. Mehitable read it in the summer house at 
the far end of the garden. It was a great delight to have it 
and she opened it eagerly. Then she gave a gasp of surprise. 
Enclosed was a postal order for ten shillings and the news 
that the little poem about the lights of Paris had been accepted 
by an English magazine. Young Madame wrote that she had 
taken the liberty of sending the poem to the magazine and had 
not spoken of it, as she wanted to surprise Mehitable. The 
ten shillings was the money they sent in payment for the poem. 
Mehitable was excited and greatly pleased over this news, but 
she did not run to tell Una about it until she had read the 
letter several times. There was a warm feeling at her heart. 
Young Madame’s letter had been so filled with interest for her. 

Una was excited over the news of the poem and predicted 
all kinds of fame for Mehitable. “What will your Aunt 
Comfort say when she hears about it?” she inquired as the 
two were walking across the terrace the afternoon of the day 
that the letter had come. 

“I wonder,” answered Mehitable. “Fm going to send her 
the money,” she went on. “It isn’t very much of course, but 
Auntie will be so astonished that I earned it by writing a 
poem.” 

The very last days were drawing near. Day after to-mor¬ 
row they would be saying goodbye to Garth Hall. They were 
talking over some of their good times, trying to decide which 
day of all the merry days had been the nicest one. Mehitable 
said to herself that no day had been as happy as the one that 
had brought her the letter from young Madame. “And I 
shall find her waiting at the Chateau when I get back,” she 
thought. 


A Glimpse of Dublin 251 

The day before they were to leave there was a heavy storm; 
the wind howled around the old house, making “ghost noises,^* 
as Peg called them. They all spent the afternojn in the big 
kitchen, making toffee. What fun it was! How they laughed 
to see Guy and Miles with aprons tied about their necks as 
they pulled the sticky golden mixture. Taddy the cook spent 
the afternoon in her own room and so they were free to do as 
they liked. Little Miss Winchy, the governess, joined them, 
and as she and Mehitable were cracking nuts, she told her 
some stories of the O’Haras in their younger days. It cleared 
late in the afternoon and the two girls put on their coats and 
“galoshes” and went out for a last look around. 

They were to leave early the next morning and the Major, 
announcing at dinner that he had business in Dublin, said 
that he would take the girls with him in the motor. Since 
their boat did not leave until after five in the afternoon, there 
would be time to run out to Howth, see the castle and the 
rhododendrons, have tea, and be on the Kingstown dock at 
sailing time. The suggestion was hailed with delight, and 
everyone wanted to come along too, but this time the Major 
shook his head. He was bringing some men back to Garth 
Hall for the night and would not have room for anyone on 
the homeward ride. “Except,” he added, perhaps there might 
be room for Peg,” smiling at his favorite, as he spoke. Peg 
hugged him, her usual way of expressing thanks. 

They were off bright and early the next morning. Mrs. 
O’Hara kissed Mehitable goodbye very kindly, and told her 
that there would always be a warm welcome for her at Garth 
Hall. The boys repeated this sentiment and Guy suggested 
that she come back with Una for the summer holidays. “Fll 
teach you how to fish,” he offered, as a fine inducement. 

Miss Winchy asked Mehitable to write to her now and 


252 


Mehitable 


then, and wept as she said goodbye to the two girls. “Poor 
Winchy always does weep,” remarked Una, brushing some 
tears from her own eyes, as they settled themselves in the 
back seat of the motor. 

Soon they had lost_sight of Garth Hall and were speeding 
toward Dublin. What a wild stretch of land they had come 
upon suddenly, great spaces of rocks and moors with the 
morning mist still hovering over them. “It’s the Rocky Val¬ 
ley,” said Una. “You think you are way off in the wilds 
somewhere, don’t you Mehitable? Well we’ll be in Dublin 
before you know it.” 

They left the wild stretch and were soon dipping down a 
green and gold hill into the charming little village of Innis- 
kerry, and then as Una said, “before they knew it they were 
in Dublin.” 

“Oh, Mehitable, it’s too bad there are so many, many things 
to see. Oh, we could have such a splendid time in Dublin. 
Why must we go back to school so soon. Daddy? Do say 
we may stay a week longer. Write one of your nice letters 
to Madame to tell her we want a few days longer.” 

Mehitable and the Major laughed at this and the latter said 
firmly. “You cannot wheedle your old Daddy that way. I 
would never dare to go against the wishes of Madame.” 

“Who would dare?” thought Mehitable. 

They had a few minutes to wait while the Major saw a man 
at the Kildare Street Club, a very old fashionable club which 
had had quite a famous history, Una told Mehitable. The 
three girls, for Peg was with them, spent the time while they 
were waiting, in a little antique shop near the club. Una had 
to take a brooch there to have mended at her mother’s request, 
and Mehitable enjoyed looking at the beautiful old things 
under glass cases. Diamond shoe buckles, cameos, jewelled 


253 


A Glimpse of Dublin 

hair combs, so many bits of long ago splendor. Mehitable 
could have spent an hour looking at them and making up 
stories about them, had there been time, but the Major was 
soon ready. They were off again down College Green, past 
old, gray Trinity College on one side and the Bank of Ireland 
on the other, and on through the dingy lower part of the city. 
Then suddenly they found themselves on a straight clean road 
by the sea on their way to Howth. It was very clear after 
the rain of the preceding day and far in the distance they 
could see the deep blue of the Carringford Hills, and beyond 
the faint etching of the Mourne Mountains, aginst the blue 
gray sky. 

The Hill of Howth was bluest of them all, as it rose above 
the little fishing village of Howth itself. The quaint old 
harbor, the light house and a little farther out at sea, the 
brown mass of rocks called Ireland's Eye, made a lovely 
picture for them, as they neared the village, and then took the 
hill slowly. They were to have lunch at a little inn called the 
Waverly, and would go to the castle afterward. Their table 
was set by the window of the siting room of the inn and as 
they enjoyed the cold meat, hot potatoes and gooseberry tart, 
they could see sailing boats at anchor in the port below, watch 
the sea gulls floating lazily over “Ireland’s Eye,” and drink 
in the sweet bracken scented air. 

“The moors are just above us,” Peg volunteered, as she 
poured cream on her pudding. “I would like to live all alone 
in a little house on a moor. I’d have a goat for a pet, and I’d 
never be a bit lonely I’m sure. Mehitable, you could come and 
visit me sometimes,” she added graciously. 

They all laughed at this. The Major paid for their lunch 
and they were off down the hill in the motor. They left the 
gravel path that led to the demesne. As they neared the 


254 


M ehitable 


car at the Castle gates and walked slowly along the winding 
path toward the castle itself, a great, gray, cold-looking struc¬ 
ture, Una touched Mehitable’s arm. '‘See,” she said, “the 
front door is open. It is never shut, not even in the coldest 
winter weather.” 

Mehitable looked at the great oak door standing open to 
the May sunshine, and then looked back at Una. “Oh, why is 
it never shut?” she asked eagerly. 

They were back of the Castle now, and were entering a deep 
wood through a low gateway. “Centuries ago, a woman 
pirate came and begged for shelter in the castle and was 
refused. To punish the Earl of Howth, she stole the heir, a 
young child, and it was only after a long time of trouble, 
and on their swearing that they would never shut the front 
door of the castle, that the pirate queen gave back the heir,” 
Una replied, as they walked along the fragrant wood path. 

“And that’s why it’s open to-day,” said Peg, taking Mehit- 
able’s hand as they walked. Mehitable did not know what 
to say to this story. She tried to imagine it happening in 
America, but couldn’t. Just then Peg said: “You’re going 
to have a surprise in a minute.” 

“Oh, why did you say that, Peg? It won’t be a surprise 
at all now. I wanted it just to burst upon her.” 

The Major had gone on a little way ahead and called back 
to them. “Summer is just ahead of us, come and see.” 

They ran toward him down the path and then, as they 
turned a corner, stood gazing before them. Steep cliffs rose 
above them, as high as they could see, and up their rocky 
sides, covering them with beauty, were masses of color—pink 
and rose, mauve and buff, scarlet and gold. Sun and shadow 
sifted through them, these clusters of rhododendron bushes. 
On and on, as they walked down the forest path, beauty fol¬ 
lowed them, glowing, magnificent. They said little as they 


255 


A Glimpse of Dublin 

went, for there was nothing one could say that would quite 
express the wonder of it. They walked to the far end and 
back again, pausing now and then to look up silently at the 
gorgeous cliffs above them. 

When they were back again, walking around the driveway 
of the castle, Mehitable turned to the Major. “It is the love¬ 
liest thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you for showing it to me,” 
she said simply. 

“Yes,” answered the Major heartily, “there’s nothing quite 
like the Howth rhododendrons, this time of year. But come, 
we’ve only just time to reach Kingstown and your boat. Hop 
in, all three of you.” 

They were off again, back toward Dublin, across the city, 
and again riding close to the sea. Howth stood out proudly, 
purple against the sky. Then a hurried goodbye to the Major 
and Peg, and they stood on the deck of the Munster, waving 
their handkerchiefs at the two, who waved back from the 
pier. The air was soft and Dublin, in the distance, a mass 
of gray and blue against the sunset sky. Lights shone out 
here and there from the city and from Kingstown, its harbor. 
Sudden lights glowed from the lighthouses. In the distance a 
boat tooted a loud farewell. 

“Dear Peg,” said Mehitable, wiping her eyes. “How I 
wish we could have brought her with us.” 

“Mother says that perhaps next winter she can come to the 
Chateau,” answered Una, giving a last wave of her handker¬ 
chief, though the pier at Kingstown was now only a faint 
blur. She little knew what the next winter would bring, when 
she said so easily that Peg might come to the Chateau. 

Una ordered tea, and they had it on deck. It was a calm 
evening and they greatly enjoyed sitting there in a quiet 
corner by themselves, watching the sea gulls that followed 


256 Mehitable 

the boat, feeling the soft wind on their faces. A little mist 
had come up and the dear country they had left such a little 
time before was only a cloud in the distance. 

‘^Una, I love Ireland. It is strange, but I feel that IVe 
dreamed about it before. I have always wanted to see it 
more than any place, and now I have seen it, now I know it,*^ 
she added. 

*lfs home to me, of course,*' answered Una. “You seem 
just a part of it, Mehitable.” 

“I should like to be a part of it,” she answered gravely. 

They fell asleep at once on the train, only waking when 
Miss Derk, who shared their compartment, came in at Chester. 
Morning found them in London, but they only went from one 
station to another in the underground and Mehitable began 
to think she was fated never to see the city at all. They had 
an uneventful journey to Dover, and there met several Chateau' 
girls, Chiona and Tip among them. They had come by 
another train. The time seemed very long after they left the 
boat at Calais. They were all impatient to reach the Chateau 
and welcomed the familiar omnibuses which were waiting 
for them at the station. It was late afternoon when they 
arrived. The door in the wall was opened for them by Jose, 
and they were back again in the old garden. How strange 
and yet how happy it seemed. “It’s the dearest place,” thought 
Mehitable, looking at the tree where her greatest happiness 
had found her. She ran up the garden path as she th^^ught 
this and in another minute felt young Madame’s arm ai'ound 
her. She had been waiting on the steps as they came in the 
gateway. “Oh,” whispered Mehitable, “I’ve been happy all 
the way back because I knew I’d find you here.” 

What fun it was seeing everyone again! How much they 


257 


A Glimpse of Dublin 

all had to say to each other at dinner. The travellers had theirs 
late, and Nancy, Tip, Jean and Gladys came and sat with 
them while they ate. 

Nancy was very glad to see Mehitable, but all she said 
when greeting her was, ‘‘Well, Mehitable did you kiss the 
Blarney stone?’' 

The two sat together for a long time at the window of 
their room that night. Nancy was an odd figure in her gray 
spring dressing gown, her stiff braids of sandy hair standing 
out, one on each side of her small grave face. Only in Mehit¬ 
able did Nancy ever confide, but the two had had many a quiet 
talk and were fast friends. “Someway a roommate is dif¬ 
ferent from anyone else,” thought Mehitable. 

This evening Mehitable was almost too tired to tell about 
her experiences in Ireland, and Nancy was unusually talka¬ 
tive. She spoke of Scotland, of old Mr. Twilltrees, the min¬ 
ister, who would love to take Mehitable to Bobby Bum’s 
Cottage, so near his own little home, when she came to Ayr 
to stay with Nancy. Nancy and Scotland! Would she some 
day visit Nancy? There was great charm in the thought. 
Would she some day know Mr. Twilltrees and his sister 
Abby who kept a dame school, Nancy’s two aunts and all the 
quaintness of Ayr? Would they ever be a reality as was now 
Garth Hall with its enchanting gardens and its woods, Guy, 
Molly, Winchy, the Major? Perhaps, but already the Irish 
experience seemed a little like a very lovely dream. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

THE PICNIC AT VERSAILLES 

The days grew very warm after the spring vacation, and 
they were allowed to stay in the garden, providing they did 
not speak with each other during study hours. Mehitable 
wanted to make the best of every day for the last term was 
nearing its end, and though she and Una would be there next 
winter, a number of the others would be gone. Jean, of 
whom Mehitable was growing very fond, would be in Chicago, 
Chiona back in her beloved Japan, and Clythie in Switzerland 
with her parents. It would never be quite the same again, and 
Mehitable felt this very strongly as, from her green bench 
under the chestnut tree, she watched the girls walking slowly 
about the garden. What a strange, wonderful winter it had 
been, learning new ways and seeing so much of the beauty of 
the world! Less than a year ago she had not known any of 
these friends that now meant so much in her life. What 
would another winter bring forth, she wondered. For her at 
any rate it would mean hard work; she must teach French and 
English later, unless some miracle should happen so that she 
could earn her living by writing, instead! She smiled to her¬ 
self, weaving some castles in the air about all that she would 
do “later on,” but was brought suddenly to earth by remem¬ 
bering that the first examination was to be in four days and 
that she was not sure of all her verbs. 

Mrs. Lindsay had written Madame that she would be sail¬ 
ing early in August from Japan, and to Mehitable's great joy 
it was planned that she should be with young Madame and 

258 


The Picnic at Versailles 


259 


Phillippe in Belgium until she joined Mrs. Lindsay. School 
would be finished the middle of July and Mehitable was to 
travel with one of the governesses, for Phillippe and his 
mother left early in the month. 

“The time will be so short until we see you again,** young 
Madame said, as Mehitable clung to her when she said 
goodbye. 

“It will be jolly having you with us, added Phillippe as he 
jumped into the motor. “We are sure to have adventures,** 
he called back gaily, as his mother kissed her hand to the 
little, brown-clad figure waving to them from the door in the 
wall. 

Una was with her, and as they turned away, she suggested 
to Mehitable that they look over the kodak pictures that had 
just come from Ireland. They sat on the green bench under 
Mehitable’s tree by the wall. “What a dear Miss Meadows is, 
to have given me this jolly camera. See this one of you in the 
woods at Garth Hall—and this one of all of us at Glen- 
dalough. Oh, you will be the next one to go away Una,” “It’s 
only goodbye for a little while, until autumn, and we shall have 
such heaps to tell each other.** 

“I’ll be an older girl. How funny that will seem,” said 
Mehitable dreamily, as they paced up and down the garden 
walk. 

They were all looking forward to Saturday, for they were 
to have the picnic at Versailles which was the crowning event 
of the year. It was one of the first things that the new girls 
heard about when they arrived at the Chateau, and all the 
year they looked forward to it. Saturday was fair and cool, 
at least when they started off, three omnibuses of them, and 
Madame driving in her funny little phaeton. Janey Dascrow, 
who had hurt her ankle, drove with Madame. 


260 


Mehitable 


“Fm sorry for Janey,’’ remarked Tip as they drove toward 
the Porte Maillot. *‘She will have to sit up so straight and 
talk so brilliantly with Madame.” 

When they left the city gates, they were allowed to speak 
English and what a chattering there was. Mehitable was 
always so fascinated to hear the English girls talk. She loved 
their soft, clear voices. Two letters had come for her just 
before they started and she had them with her in the pocket 
of the neat blue and white gingham which Aunt Comfort had 
sent her in a package from home. 

‘‘Fm thankful it’s blue, even if it is so funnily made,” 
Mehitable said to Una. 

When once out on the wide, white road leading toward 
Versailles, they grew very hilarious and sang nearly all the 
English songs they knew, ending up with “Come back to 
Erin” as they drove through Versailles itself. It was market 
day and the Place des Armes was filled with people making 
their way to the market square in the oldest part of the town. 
The people jostled each other good-naturedly and called back 
and forth to each other in high chattering voices. Most of 
them were peasants from nearby towns. The spire of the 
cathedral of St. Louis gleamed in the sunshine. 

Before them was the stone balustrade and gilded iron gate 
which shut off the great court of the palace from the Place 
des Armes. Here they alighted from the omnibuses and 
were soon roaming at their will through the wonderful gar¬ 
dens of the palace, that Louis XIV built in the long ago days. 

“IFs the Petite Trianon that I so want to see,” Mehitable 
said to Una and Tip as the three of them waited for Clythie 
to join them. As far almost as they could see were gardens, 
also pink terraces and a blur of deep wood, beyond. 

The great palace with its graceful wings stretching out on 


The Picnic at Versailles 261 

each side, seemed a part of the old world that Mehitable loved, 
the world that whispered secrets to hear. 

The girls were allowed to go about as they liked within 
the palace grounds, with the stipulation that they all meet at 
the gate at one o’clock so that they could go together to the 
woods for lunch. Una, Clythie, Tip, Chiona and Mehitable, 
after wandering about the gardens, finally found themselves 
inside the great palace. They strolled through vaulted pas¬ 
sages, coming suddenly into the great Hall of the Crusaders, 
and on to the Battle Gallery where hung the tattered flags 
of the wars of centuries past. Tip liked this room and said 
she wished Phillippe were there to tell them about it. They 
wandered on to the theatre built by Louis XV, and where 
Marie Antoinette and her friends used to act their plays, 
before those dreadful days of the Revolution when the King 
of France, Louis XVI, and his gay, beautiful Queen were 
beheaded. 

When they came out again the sunshine dazzled them, for 
the palace had been dark and musty. They walked across to 
the Petite Trianon, the house that* Marie Antoinette loved 
best of all, and where she spent her happiest hours. Little 
rustic English cottages surrounded it and in the midst of all 
the dignity and grandeur of the great palace, this little play¬ 
ground of a dead Queen, had something of pathos about it. 

Someone called them to join the others and soon they were 
all making their way toward the wood beyond the Queen’s 
walk, a lovely avenue of trees and shrubs, through which 
gleamed marble statues. The shade of the wood was grate¬ 
ful after the hot glare of the July sun, and they enjoyed the 
patties, cakes and fruit which Tip and several of the other 
girls, passed around in baskets. 

After lunch they rested under the trees and Mehitable read 


262 Mehitable 

her letters. Desire’s was characteristic. This is part of it: 
‘T held out for blue when your Aunt Comfort was making 
those ginghams. Si sends respects, says he guesses you won’t 
miss the birthday roses this year, with all the French posies, 
but I know better.” Mehitable felt a lump in her throat as 
she read this. Yes she would miss the birthday roses more 
than she could say. 

In her letter Barbara said, *T’m going to have supper with 
your aunt, on your birthday, and she has asked Robin, and 
Johnnie. Oh, think how far away you’ll be. It’s almost a 
year since your birthday and the coming of the letter from 
Mrs. Lindsay. I think of your life more than my own, 
Mehitable. Una and Clythie and Tip seem almost as real as 
the Bentlys. Will we ever have the old days back, I wonder. 
I put my hair up Sunday, and wore my new blue lawn.” 

Una saw that there were tears in Mehitable’s eyes, when 
she came up to her. She leaned her head a little wearily 
against the tree trunk and said with a choke in her voice, 
‘‘Barbie’s letter seems sad. Oh, I’m sorry for dear Barbara.” 

“I wish she could be with us to-day,” said Una. “But come 
and see the fountains, we are all going, it’s after five.” 

When they came out of the wood, Mehitable put up her arm 
to shield here eyes from the magnificence of the scene before 
her. The great palace with its stately wings, spreading fan¬ 
like, each side, its many gardens and terraces, and as far as 
one could see, silver rainbow sprays of water, flashes of green, 
gold, and rose through the sparkle of innumerable fountains. 
It was so dazzling a sight that one might well imagine one 
had strayed into fairyland by mistake. 

Mehitable was so quiet when they climbed up into the omni¬ 
bus, that Madame Bourget exclaimed, “Tiens, petite, you have 
overfatigued yourself.” 


The Picnic at Versailles 


263 


Mehitable shook her head, smiling. “No—it was the foun¬ 
tains—I never saw anything like them before,” she answered. 

“We waited till five for they turn on the water power then,” 
explained Gladys, jumping up and sitting on one side of 
Mehitable. This practical explanation made Mehitable laugh, 
but the fountains at Versailles always held for her the charm 
of a dream. 

The days flew by, examinations came and went, and finally, 
a hot late July morning arrived when Mehitable stood in the 
garden gate and waved goodbye to all her schoolmates, Una, 
Clythie and Tip. She herself would be leaving the next day 
for Belgium. 

As the last white flutter of handkerchiefs ceased, Mehitable 
wiped the tears from her eyes, and thought to herself, “It will 
never be just the same again, whatever happens, it will never 
be just the same.” 


1 


CHAPTER XXV 
BELGIUM— 1914 

The governess with whom Mehitable was to travel to 
Belgium was detained, so it happened that she went with 
Fraulein instead. Phillippe and his mother were to meet her 
with the car at Liege and Fraulein to go on her way to Ger¬ 
many. 

Madame went with them to the Gare du Nord and gave 
Mehitable several last messages for her daughter-in-law, as 
she bade her an unusually affectionate goodbye. Mehitable 
had hardly said goodbye to the Chateau itself. In two months 
she would be back again, and now that all her schoolmates 
had gone, she herself was glad to set out on a new adventure. 

‘Tt’s not really goodbye at all, dear Chateau, it’s just au 
revoir” she thought as the garden gate closed behind her. 

She and Fraulein had a sociable time together on the train. 
How different from their last journey! There was no need 
now to ask Fraulein questions about the Chateau. Instead, 
Mehitable talked almost constantly about the school, of the 
picnic, her delight in having had a good mark in the grammar 
examination. She had had no classes with Fraulein and they 
had had no real talk together, since their last journey. 

‘T miss it already, I mean school and the girls. Doesn’t it 
seem strange to think we are not there doing the everyday 
things?” 

They had a sociable lunch together, cold fowl, bread and 
butter, and the cherry tarts of which Fraulein did not approve. 


265 


Belgium —1914 

^She enjoyed them however, and was so cheered toward the 
end of the meal that she talked to Mehitable about the engage¬ 
ment of her niece Elsa to a young Prussian officer. Fraulein 
had been very uneasy since the assassination of the Grand 
Duke, Francis Ferdinand and Duchesse Sophia. The news 
had reached the girls only vaguely. They saw no newspapers 
and had been deep in school doings and examinations at the 
time. 

It was raining a little as the gray spires of Liege showed 
against a dull sky. Mehitable’s heart beat quickly as she pressed 
her face against the window in order to catch the first glimpse 
of young Madame and Phillippe. There he was! Phillippe 
waving his gray cap, his face smiling a welcome. Beside him 
stood a large, rosy-faced woman in a cloak and frilled cap. 
She held a basket on her arm, and a long cucumber peered out 
of one end of it. Fraulein had to change cars, so she and 
Mehitable alighted together. In a second they had greeted 
Phillippe and been introduced to fat, jolly Madame Nollette. 
There were hurried goodbyes to Fraulein, as the guard called 
her train. Mehitable waved to her and she waved back, call¬ 
ing, “Au revoir,” as a parting word. Then came eager ques¬ 
tions and explanations. Young Madame had gone in answer 
to a wire to meet Major de Villiers at Havre. His boat had 
just arrived. Phillippe and Mehitable were to stay, the few 
days of her absence, with good Madame Nollette, his old 
Flemish nurse. He brought a note from his mother to Mehit¬ 
able and she read it hurriedly as they walked through the 
station. 

“This is only a hasty line to welcome you. My husband’s 
boat is at Havre and I must see him, as he may not be off 
duty for some time. You and Phillippe will have a happy 
time with kind Madame Nollette, who took care of him, when 


266 


Mehitable 


he was a baby, and I shall feel that my two dear children are 
in good hands until I return,’' so the letter ran. 

“See, Mehitable,” Phillippe’s voice interrupted her. “Isn’t 
it splendid that I have the motor?” 

They had passed through the waiting room and there, 
standing by the platform was the dear familiar gray car.“ Oh, 
Phillippe!” was all Mehitable could say. 

‘^Mother knows I can run it quite as well as she, and so she 
left it for us. She said she knew she could trust me to be 
careful.” 

“What fun!” said Mehitable delightedly, as she jumped up 
into the back seat beside Madame Nollette. 

She was very disappointed at not finding young Madame, 
but tried to think only of her friend’s happiness. “Oh, Phil¬ 
lippe, I’m so glad your father has come. You must be very 
impatient to see him,” she said, as Phillippe guided the car 
carefully through the crowded street. 

“I am,” he answered, without looking around. “He will 
join us somewhere as soon as he can. We thought he would 
have leave right away, but he isn’t sure yet.” 

They were nearing the outskirts of the town and the late 
sun touched to gold the rows of neat little gardens in front 
of neat little houses. They passed women in quaint peasant 
dress, short skirts of red or gray, laced girdles, and funny, 
round, dark Flemish caps. They carried baskets that during 
the day had been filled with fresh vegetables which they had 
sold in the market square. 

Soon the gray motor stopped before a pretty, vine-covered 
cottage, quite in the country, the home of Madame Nollette, 
and she talked cheerily as they alighted and walked up the 
flower-bordered garden path. 


Belgium —1914 267 

‘‘You are welcome, my Iamb,” she said to Mehitable. “You 
and the young master shall have as happy days as old fat 
Madame Nollette can give you, and plenty of cream and 
sweet cakes.” 

A big white cat met them at the threshold of the pleasant 
little sitting room, with its plain oak settle, its row of blue and 
white china above the mantle. A table covered with a blue 
cloth and laid ready for supper, stood in the middle of the 
room. On it was a pewter jug filled with yellow roses and 
ferns. The roses were from Madame Nollette’s favorite bush, 
by the side door, and the ferns, Phillippe told Mehitable, he 
had picked in the woods the day before. 

“We'll have some fine times, Mehitable. Nurse says we 
may have as many picnics as we like,” he said as they sat at 
supper. 

He was right, they did have merry times. It was a new 
life for Mehitable, those few days that followed, the change 
from the strictly planned school days to the carefree existence 
at Madame Nollette's cottage. The motor afforded them their 
chief amusement. They would dash off in it at a moment's 
notice, with a well-filled picnic basket under the seat, and 
because the old nurse so enjoyed the rides, they generally 
took her with them. She would feed her chickens, draw 
together the little blue curtains at the front windows and off 
they would go. 

One night at supper, a few days after Mehitable had come, 
Madame Nollette's jolly face was clouded. She had an eve¬ 
ning newspaper and read it frowningly, ejaculating under her 
breath. “Miserable, incredible!” 

The newspaper was in Flemish, and so she explained its 
contents to the other two. “It's bad news, darling little 


Mehitable 


268 

cabbages,” she said in French, “The Germans are all astir. 
Heaven keep them from coming this way. It’s all because 
of that Serbian business,” she added. 

Then, trying to be cheerful for the children’s sake, she 
went over to the cubboard and brought out a jar of golden 
jelly. “Come, loves, don’t let Nurse Nollette’s worry spoil 
your supper. Here is some of my fig jam.” She looked 
lovingly at Mehitable as she spoke. She herself had plaited 
the thick, smooth, brown braid of hair that hung over the 
young girl’s shoulder. To Nurse Nollette, Phillippe was still 
the child she had cared for, and Mehitable just another child. 

As she finished speaking, the gate clicked, and someone 
knocked on the door a moment later. It was a messenger 
with a wire. He was breathless, and turned away as he handed 
it to Phillippe. “The wires are down—^you can’t send an 
answer—the Germans are trying to cross the border.” He 
was gone like a flash. 

The message was for Phillippe, and said: "Start with 
Mehitable for Havre at once. Bring Nurse Nollette if pos¬ 
sible. De Villiers.** 

There was consternation in the little cottage. Poor Madame 
Nollette burst into tears. There was danger, and the Major 
had sent for the children. She herself could never leave the 
home she had had so long. Her cow, the chickens, her old 
paralyzed auntie, who lived nearby. She must send them off 
without her. 

They learned from a neighbor that the trains has been com¬ 
mandeered for soldiers, and after thinking quietly, Phillippe 
said, “We will travel by motor to Mauberge. It’s a little 
town in France, almost where France and Belgium meet. We 
can leave the car and I hope get a train there that will connect 
us with a through train to Havre.” 


269 


Belgium —1914 

Phillippe seemed suddenly to be a little boy no longer. He 
turned to Nurse Nollette. *‘I think we had better start at 
early dawn. If all goes well, it’s only a few hours ride. 
Please pack a valise with things you need most, Mehitable. 
We had better get some rest until four o’clock.” 

They obeyed him. After a few attempts they ceased to urge 
Nurse Nollette to go with them, seeing what a tragedy it 
would be for her. ‘‘It will) all blow over. Nurse, but I wish 
you were coming too,” said Phillippe, giving her a bear hug 
when they said goodbye in the early dawn. 

“So do I, dear Madame. Oh, you have been so good. God 
bless you,” cried Mehitable impulsively as she too hugged the 
good woman. 

Madame could only answer with sobs, but as the motor 
started, she called out, “God be with you, my darlings,” wav¬ 
ing her apron as Phillippe started the car. 

The sat together in the front seat. Mehitable’s brown 
valise, Phillippe’s bag, a basket of provisions on the floor 
behind. 

“The shabby brown valise is having adventures too,” 
thought Mehitable. 

The sun was only just peering over the gray green lines in 
the distance. What was that very faint, far away sound? 
“Cannonading,” said Phillippe, as they sped through the cool 
sweet air. “I hate running away from things.” 

There were wagons filled with people and household goods 
ahead of them, and it was some little time before they got 
by. They passed groups of people on foot, some sobbing 
and others talking excitedly. 

“They’ve invaded the country—they’re on their way—^the 
Germans. You will see, they will wait aid, the people at Liege, 
until it is too late. How few of us are leaving.” 


270 


Mehitable 


It seemed to Phillippe and Mehitable that a great many 
were leaving and when he had to stop the car for a moment, 
almost in the same breath both of them exclaimed, “We must 
help the others/' 

There was sobbing by the roadside. A man in Belgian uni¬ 
form came up to them. “Fm due at Liege to join my regi¬ 
ment^—cannot leave my wife and sick baby to travel alone. 
For God's sake what shall I do?" 

“We will take them somewhere to safety," answered Phil¬ 
lippe. 

“Address Private Jean Galgore, 8th Division, 3rd Regiment. 
God reward you." 

He helped his wife and baby into the back seat of the car. 
Mehitable, hearing the low crying of the baby, jumped out 
and then seated herself beside the woman. “I’ll hold the 
baby," she said gently to the pale mother. 

An old man with a crutch, father to the woman, climbed 
in beside Phillippe, and they sped on their way. 

It was a weary way. The sun was hot, the air heavy. They 
had to wait for long intervals, as wagons blocked the road. 
Mehitable's arms grew very tired, for the baby was heavy, 
and did not cease its tedious, wailing cry. The woman, who 
spoke only Flemish, sobbed softly to herself, wringing her 
hands. She was recovering from a serious illness, so the 
grandfather told Phillippe in a few words in French. 

Mehitable lay the baby on the mother's lap, while she opened 
the basket, and soon baby and mother were refreshed with 
sweet milk from a stone jar Nurse Nollette had thoughtfully 
put in. Later on they all had some fruit and sandwiches. 

“They taste like sawdust," said Phillippe, smiling over his 
shoulder at Mehitable. In fact their mouths were so dry 


Belgium —1914 271 

from the heat and excitement, that they hardly tasted what 
they ate. 

The slow hours dragged by, and still because of many 
delays, they had not reached Mauberge. The baby still 
wailed, and the mother uttered prayers under her breath or 
fell into a fitful sleep. Mehitable’s whole body ached, but she 
tried to forget it. She sang bits of songs to the baby, who 
rewarded her with a smile and finally fell asleep. 

Mehitable dared not sleep for fear of dropping him. She 
half closed her eyes and tried to think of happy things, 
the quiet Chateau schoolroom, the daffodil walk at Garth 
Hall, dear young Madame, but most of all she thought of 
Cherryville. 

Very faintly, they still heard the far boom of cannonad¬ 
ing. Dear Cherryville, the wild clematis in the hollow, Bar¬ 
bara, most of all Aunt Comfort. Mehitable sat up suddenly 
very straight, making a more comfortable place for the baby’s 
head. She gave Phillippe a reassuring smile as he glanced 
back at her. “We are all right,” she said. 

Aimt Comfort would be glad to know that she had tried 
to remember her grandfather who had been so brave under 
fire. Aunt Comfort was nearest in her thoughts, her own 
flesh and blood. She must be all that Aunt Comfort would 
wish, in this, her biggest adventure. 

There was no train at Mauberge and they had to keep on. 
It was a little easier now, for they had outdistanced the 
refugees. Now they were in France! The^ heard on all 
sides that France and England had declared war. 

Fortunately they were able to keep to by-roads and there¬ 
fore the great masses of the French army, marching to the 
various stations, did not delay them. 


272 Mehitable 

‘*At the next town there is a train. Yes, surely, for Havre,” 
so they were told. 

When they reached the town, Phillippe told the station mas¬ 
ter that his father was a Major in the French army, that he 
must reach Havre as soon as possible. He gave the man a 
tip and begged him to help them. “You see that I must take 
care of this young lady, the old man and the woman with 
the baby.” 

The station master was kind, and promised to see that the 
motor was taken to the Commandant’s garage and left in 
Major de Villiers’ name. Phillippe had to trust him, and 
after a long, weary wait in the crowded station, they all 
boarded the train for Havre. 

“We’ll have to take them right along, Mehitable. We 
can’t just leave them by the way,” said Phillippe, nodding 
toward the huddled figures of the old man and the mother. 
Mehitable nodded. 

She still held the baby, and her face was very white. She 
was covered with dust and her hat was on one side. Phil¬ 
lippe bought tickets and at last the train drew in. 

They found seats for the lame man and the woman and 
finally one for Mehitable. Slowly the hours crept by. They 
were held up for connections for long intervals at various 
stations waiting for the commandeered trains to go through. 
There was excitement everywhere, tense, unspeakable. 

At last, Havre! The station, a fly which took them to the 
Villiers’ hotel. The meeting with young Madame. Major de 
Villiers, dark, quiet, like the photograph in the old wing. 
His joy at seeing Phillippe. His kind fatherly greeting to 
Mehitable. Their explanations. The Major’s quiet nod of 
praise for them both. Young Madame’s white face, her tears 
of thankfulnss. “Oh, you blessed children. To think that 


Belgium —1914 273 

you have had to do all this alone.” Later she would be steady 
and helpful and splendid, but just then she could only weep 

The refugees were kindly cared for and after a night of 
exhausted sleep, Mehitable and Phillippe, with young 
Madame boarded a boat for England. The Major sent a 
cable to Mrs. Lindsay, whose sailing from Japan would be 
delayed, telling her Mehitable was safe with friends, and a 
similar one to Aunt Comfort. He al5b wired to his mother, 
who was still in Paris. 

He was leaving at once for the front with his regiment and 
he waved them goodbye from the pier. Young Madame did 
not weep now. “Her face is the face of a soldier’s wife,” 
thought Mehitable, as they stood with Phillippe, one on each 
side of Madame de Villiers, watching France fade into the 
distance. 

And next winter? The future? What did it matter if her 
little plans were changed ? This was a time to help. She had 
known that, with a very happy feeling at her heart, while she 
had held the sick baby in her arms, and with these dear and 
already tried frends, she would not be afraid to face whaN 
ever might come. 

“I wish we’d brought Nurse with us,” said Phillippe. 

“I feel sure that she is safe. The good God that Nurse 
Nollette has always so trusted will take care of her.” Young 
Madame put her arms around the shoulders of Mehitable and 
Phillippe, as she spoke. “It’s going to be the greatest time 
the world has ever known, children. France and England 
will have need of every one of us. I’m so glad I have you both 
to help me do my part.” 

Sunshine touched Mehitable’s face as she looked up and 
said, “I will do all I can with you and for you.” 


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